


A Boy Like That

by Malevelynce



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Astrology, Background Relationships, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Catfishing, Complicated Backstory, Complicated Relationships, Constellations, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fist Fights, Flashbacks, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith is a virgin, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Minor Matt Holt/Shiro, Past Lance/Allura, Rivalry, Rumors, Slow Burn, West Side Story, keith is a scorpio, lance is a leo, lance/plaxum - Freeform, minor keith/lotor tension, past lance/acxa, past lance/nyma - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-04 21:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malevelynce/pseuds/Malevelynce
Summary: The moment Keith's eyes latched onto Lance's, sparks scattered into the skies, instantaneous hatred igniting the carbon dioxide pushing itself out of his lungs. With the fire burning between them, Keith could see nothing but the piercing blue of Lance's eyes, reflecting the flames with a stark passion. There was no one in the entire world that Keith despised more than Lance McClain. And yet, somehow, the string of fate kept tugging them together.Keith would like nothing more than to take a knife to that damned string.~ ~ ~Aspiring actors with complicated pasts, Lance and Keith hate each other with burning passion. Yet, despite their history, they are cast as best friends in their college production of West Side Story. Through this, they are forced to spend countless hours a week together, finding they must put aside their differences and work past their hatred for one another in order to perform their best. Soon, they discover that their relationship runs deeper than either could have ever imagined.On Hold Until Further Notice





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic for just about a year now so I really hope you all enjoy reading it!
> 
> This is my piece for the Voltron Supernova Big Bang, @vldsupernovabang  
> I was able to work with the amazing @clairosene and @ace-keiths who are both fabulous artists and absolutely the best to work with!! :)
> 
> I will be adding their artwork to the piece with the chapters but you can also see all their pieces through their tumblrs, which I've linked above!
> 
> Enjoy <3

**Prelude:**

The stars burned brightly, sewn into the endless darkness of night, mocking him, hanging high above him. And through blurry, tear-filled eyes, he wished nothing more than for the stars to burn out. Disintegrate and leave the sky a vision of blackness. Disintegrate and leave his skin smooth and unmarred.

But, his heart ached heavily in his chest, knowing that neither were ever going to happen.

He could wish, though.

**Chapter one: New Beginnings**

“I . . . miss you,” Keith said with quiet reluctance through the phone. Giving a small, awkward smile to the girl behind the soft pretzel cart, he passed her four dollars for a snack and a soda before his first class.

Just hearing Shiro's voice lifted his mood. “Hey now, you can't be homesick yet! You've only been at college for one week, Keith. And it's only been orientation stuff, anyway.”

“I can be homesick if I want,” Keith protested with a small huff, pouting as he tried to push off the crushing nervousness living in his bone marrow.

After a short pep talk about “making friends” and “taking the bull by the horns” shit from Shiro, Keith hung up with a smile on his face. He knew that his brother meant every word of advice he’d given him, and while Keith didn’t necessarily take every bit to heart, just hearing his voice was a comfort to him. He definitely felt at least a little bit more prepared for first class.

But as he looked around, he felt a jolt of panic run through him.

_Where was he?_

Pulling out his campus map, he knew he looked like an idiot, standing in the middle of a street, squinting at a poorly-printed map of the city. The only issue was that he didn’t know what street he was currently on. Moving from the middle of nowhere to the biggest city in the state was jolting, and a week on campus was not nearly enough.

He knew he was _on_ campus, so maybe he could find a building and ask for directions from someone inside. Snorting, he couldn’t think of any other way to make sure everyone knew he was a hopeless freshman.

Nevertheless, he was still hopelessly lost. Walking nervously down the block, he found a building with the university logo on the doors and shoved one hand into his pocket before walking in. It smelled like paint and polymer clay.

The main foyer of the art building was spacious, but luckily there was a security guard not too far from the door. Walking over tentatively to her, he spit out an awkward, “Hi!” that was far too high-pitched and squeaky, but there was no going back from there. The words were sticky in his throat, but he managed to stutter out the name of the building he needed to get to. Uncrumpling his map, he poked at the small blue square with a slightly-trembling finger.

She generously showed him what building he was currently in and traced out the best way to get to his class. Thanking the security guard and nearly tripping as he pushed his way out of the art building, he started running down the street toward his class, his heart aflutter in his chest.

When he finally made it to his own building, the scent of dust and old floorboards assaulted his senses. Sure, he knew that the performing arts was the oldest major of the Altean University of Art, but it was still overwhelming to be drowning in the decrepitness of the building.

_He was at the Altean University of Art. Holy shit._

Putting on a brave face and masking his anxiety, Keith hurried up the stairs to his first official college class: improvisational acting. Beyond the fact that this was his first-ever college class, he really wasn’t sure what to expect from this class. He pretty much knew what he was going to get out of hip-hop and ballet and choir, but improv? He was going in blind.

He pushed the door open to find a half-filled classroom, students milling around awkwardly. Thanking the ancients he wasn't late, he found a seat in the back, plopping himself down and pulling out his phone.

It didn't really occur to him to socialize until a shy-looking, nerdy girl sat down next to him. Keith had to suppress the eye roll when he sent a quick glance around and saw almost all the other seats were empty. She could have picked _any_ of them and she chose to sit right next to him. Ugh.

“Hi!” the girl squeaked out, sitting completely sideways on her chair with her hands pressed into her lap. Her space buns were coiled tightly on the sides of her head with bangs almost obscuring her eyes, and silver hoops swinging on each ear. “I'm Shay! It's great to meet you!”

Keith nodded and tapped his fingertips anxiously on his phone before offering his own name and slouching back in his seat. Trying to suppress his anxiety and work on getting his breathing to an even pace was difficult normally, and the girl speaking to him was _not_ helping. He never needed friends before, and he certainly didn’t need them in a competitive environment like the Altean University of Art.

“I've only been home schooled before, is this what a high school classroom looks like too? Or is it different? I bet it's different, right? I couldn't imagine college classrooms would be the same as high school classrooms. Well, this is a performing arts school, so maybe they're even more different, huh?”

Jesus, the words were shooting out of her mouth a mile per minute.

Keith bared his teeth in what he hoped came off as a smile but most likely wasn't perceived that way. “Uh, this is pretty much the same? I mean in my high school the chairs and the desks were connected, but uh, they had chalk boards and shit, sure.”

Shay seemed a little taken aback by Keith's monotone reply but nodded, seeming genuinely interested in what he was saying. “When, uh, when do you think the teacher will show up? Aren't they supposed to be here by now? Class started almost a minute ago.”

Keith coughed to hide his snort and tucked his arms across his chest, watching the thin red hand on the clock tick by. His eyes were drawn to the door as it was shoved open, instinctively straightening slightly, thinking it was the teacher coming in.

But it wasn’t the teacher.

The moment Keith's eyes latched onto Lance's, sparks scattered into the skies, instantaneous hatred igniting the carbon dioxide pushing itself out of his lungs. With the fire burning between them, Keith could see nothing but the piercing blue of Lance's eyes, reflecting the flames with a stark passion. There was no one in the entire world that Keith despised more than Lance McClain. And yet, somehow, the string of fate kept tugging them together.

Keith would like nothing more than to take a knife to that damned string.

“Sorry I'm late, everybody!” a bright, cheerful voice broke through the tension hanging heavily in the air, caught between Lance's blue eyes and Keith's grey, violence thrumming through his fingertips.

Her strawberry blonde hair was tied in a ponytail atop her head and then braided most of the way down her back. A variety of colored flower clips were seemingly haphazardly shoved through the plait. She looked like she was eight years old, a pink floral dress waving at her knees and gladiator sandals strapped up her calves.

Well, she was a performing arts teacher, that was for sure.

“Hi everybody! I'm Ezor Sarin—but you guys can just call me Ezor—and welcome to Improvisational Acting!” Her voice was bubbly and filled to the brim with childlike excitement. This was one hell of a teacher.

Ezor babbled on for a bit about standard first-day stuff before announcing, “We’re going to play a game! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

The teacher probably ignored the small groan that rumbled through the classroom as she tossed her bag onto her desk and fished around for a moment (slamming an energy drink, a first aid kit, and a nail file on the table in the process) before plucking out a small beanie baby cat.

“I'd like everyone to meet Mittens! When Mittens is tossed to you, you have to strike a pose--” Ezor threw up a peace sign and gave a wide grin “--and tell us your name and your favorite day of the year.”

Looks were passed around as the students, in various stages of seated around the classroom, wondering at the randomness of the question. “This is improv! I can't have eleven people telling me blue is their favorite color, now can I? Okay, up, up!Let’s move these desks out of the way.”

Once everyone had shoved their desk and chairs to the sides of the rooms, they formed a sort of potato-shape awkwardly. Ezor joined them, tossing the beanie baby in the air and catching it again. Keith couldn't help but take notice of the sharp points of her nails and the pinkish-coral color coating them. She was . . . interesting to say the least.

“My favorite day of the year is November 1st because Christmas shit starts showing up in stores and you've got all this candy to binge after Halloween,” Ezor started with yet another blaring smile. Without warning, without any sort of fanfare, the beanie baby was sailing through the air and nearly took out the guy three people away from Keith. He could hear the cat thud into his chest. _Jesus_.

The guy pinched a couple of the beans inside the cat’s stomach and rolled them around the tips of his fingers. “Uh, hi, I'm Bobby, but you can call me Bii Boh Bi, and uh, my favorite day of the year is October 13th, uh, ‘cause it's my birthday.”

Ezor violently whispered, “Don’t forget the pose!” and poor Bii awkwardly gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and a cheesy smile.

And the beanie baby was thrown across the circle, random dates being tossed into the air. Keith could hardly remember their names, let alone something as random as their favorite day of the year. And then the beanie baby was rocketing toward him, practically whistling through the air before sinking into his awaiting fingers.

Keith sent a few frantic glances around the circle before stuffing one hand into his pocket and letting his weight shift to one hip. “I'm Keith.” A million different days were racing through his head, dates, times, events running across his mind, trying their best to confuse him. “February 29th. Only happens once every four years, gotta appreciate it, right?” It was also Shiro's birthday, but the class didn't need to know that.

With a mild start, Keith realized it was now his turn to pass the beanie baby to someone else in the circle. There was only one problem: he hadn't quite been paying attention and really didn't have a clue as to who had already shared yet. But as his gaze slid over everyone in the class, he suddenly had to fight the small smile forcing its way onto his lips.

Keith had never played baseball before but he could feel the determination growing in his veins. Winding up, he chucked the limp beanie baby straight into Lance’s awaiting face.

Letting the smile grow along with his sense of victory, Keith suddenly remembered that he couldn't openly fuel the vendetta between them and wiped the smile off his face. The entire class let out an “oo” as if they shared Lance’s pain. Catching the stern eyes of the teacher boring into him, Keith immediately flipped his switch.

“Oh my god! Lance, I’m _so_ sorry, are you okay?” His hands were floating in front of him, feigning an itch to help, and his feet were a few steps inside the circle, closer to the boy with the red indent in his cheek.

Lance narrowed his eyes dangerously and squeezed the beanie baby tightly in one fist. “Just fine,” he growled out, tension in every muscle of his body.

Ezor passed a concerned look from boy to boy but simply asked Lance to continue with the activity.

Annoyingly enough, Lance did finger guns with a wink. “The name’s Lance and my favorite day is August 15th, my mom’s birthday.” His obvious intention was gratified as Keith notice some girl across the circle with blue hair blush and look away.

Keith could not have rolled his eyes farther back into his head. Maybe he had chosen his brother's birthday, but still. This was different.

Mittens made her way around the circle until the awkward girl who had attempted to speak to him at the beginning of class was stroking a couple fingers on the beanie baby’s head. Shay introduced herself before uncomfortably gazing around the circle, offering a quiet, “Is there anyone who, ah, hasn't gone yet?”

“I don't think so!” Ezor announced proudly. “Good job everyone! This is going to be a really exciting class, doncha think?” It was like everything that came out of her mouth was energized, as if she had a rubber band wound around her lungs and her words always came out in a rush. Quite frankly, it was exhausting.

They took a seat, and Ezor explained that she went to school at the Galra Institute, another prestigious theater arts school, and graduated with a degree in theater management. She then went on to show the class some photos of her girlfriend and her parents.

Jumping around from desk to desk, she held up a few polaroids she kept in her wallet and her phone was lit up with a photo from instagram. Class ended and Ezor apologized for not having a very fun class and promised to have a few more activities and a note sheet for next class.

First college class down and Keith desperately needed a nap.

~ ~ ~

Lance was late. Late, late, late.

Not only has he moved in late (because obviously his mom thought it was the most important thing in the world for him to visit his entire family in _Cuba_ before going off to college), looking at his phone, he was definitely going to be late for his first college class.

After his mom had helped him get all of his belongings into the huge ass cart-basket thing, Lance had given her a hug and resisted the tears pressing against his eyes. He wheeled the cart up to his new dorm room and started to slowly unpack, boxes and trash bags full of basically everything he owned piled high on his bed.

And then, suddenly, it was ten minutes to two and he couldn't even find his shoes. Scrambling out the door with his shoes shoved on the wrong feet, he started running down the street to get to his class.

Obviously, the first building he walked into wasn’t the right one (because the world was against him like that), but he only found that out when he stepped into the elevator and saw there was no fourth floor. He really should have known it wasn't the performing arts building as soon as he'd taken a breath full of modeling clay and acrylic paint.

Asking some girl with a paint-splattered apron on for directions took way longer than it should have, his fingers itching as the seconds ticked by. Slipping a word of gratitude out from in between his teeth, Lance was back to running down the street.

His feet pounding on the cracks in the street hurt enough by itself, and he couldn’t help the curse that passed through his teeth as the sole of his foot started burning. Anxiety and an overwhelming feeling of uncomfortableness rolled in the bottom of his stomach.

The pain radiated from a stark white birthmark on the sole of his foot, the scorpio constellation dotted there with tiny stars and thin lines connecting them. Because Lance was a leo, it lead him to the conclusion that his soulmate must be a scorpio. It was the reason he read his horoscope and scorpio’s horoscope every morning.

But, currently there was no other option but to keep running and ignore the feelings his soulmate was forcing onto him. In normal circumstances, he adored receiving emotions from his soulmate—it was a reminder that the other half of his soul was out there. But right now, he didn't have the time for it.

While he adored knowing what his soulmate was feeling, it was also a constant reminder that the poor person was often bottling up their feelings, causing them to transfer over to Lance. And it fucking hurt his foot.

He knew plenty of people with cute little marks on their wrists and behind their ears or even below their belly button. Yet he was the one with the mark on the bottom of his foot, almost giving him a limp whenever his soulmate’s feelings were particularly strong.

Shaking off the emotions and pushing on through the pain, Lance finally found where his class was actually being held. When he opened the door to this building, the smell of dust and old floorboards struck him so sharply he knew he had the right place. He tapped his foot obnoxiously in the elevator, slamming the floor button repeatedly as the contraption slowly made it way up.

Doing a double take, Lance spied a huge stuffed bird sitting in the middle of the classroom he almost walked into. His eyes widened and he took three cautious steps backward as he saw someone pull one of the feathers out and replace it when a pink one.

Whatever class that was, he definitely didn't want to be there.

Walking into what he hoped was the right classroom, Lance thanked the heavens above that his teacher wasn't there yet.

And that was when his eyes locked onto Keith's.

Keith goddamn Kogane. There wasn't a single human on the face of this planet that Lance hated more than that boy.

He'd already spent four fucking years with the fucking asswipe. Surviving four more years in class with the douche canoe? He didn’t think he could do it. Curling his hands into fists, he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Yet, he couldn't seem to break eye contact with those grey irises, so full of hatred it could only be mirroring his own. The air in between them was as electrified as a telephone wire during a storm, sparks zapping through the space hanging between them.

A cheery voice broke through that tension, dragging his eyes off Keith's as the teacher burst into the classroom, only a minute behind Lance. And then, obviously, a _great!_ and _super duper fun! not cliche at all!_ name game ensued that involves throwing a small beanie baby cat around a circle, names, and favorite day of the year (weird but appreciated).

Lance was simply glad that he had such a cool teacher for improv. It would’ve been awful if the teacher for such a creative course was old as dirt or boring as rocks. Like the ninety-year-old Mr. Karington that taught history his senior year. Everyday he was afraid as he walked into that class because that man looked like he could die by breathing too deeply.

Shaking him out of his weird reverie was the quiet attention of a very pretty girl with a set of crystal blue eyes staring straight into him. Her aquamarine hair was shoulder-length and pin-straight, a star necklace hanging cutely around her neck.

It was her eyes he was staring into, a dopey smile sitting upon his lips, when the beanie baby violently smacked into his face. He took a stuttering step backwards and caught the cat as it peeled off the indent in his cheek. Squeezing the stupid thing's stomach, he sent daggers to Keith, who's haughty smirk gave him away immediately.

Lance watched the way his eyes slid to the teacher's stern glare and saw the concern materialize into his features. “Oh my god! Lance, I’m _so_ sorry, are you okay?”

The sad part was, he believed the godforsaken bastard for a moment. The way his voice caressed the faux kindness sounded so fucking natural Lance could rip his hair out. But when Lance found the energy to raise his eyes to meet his, all he saw was a smug expression playing on Keith's face. Rolling his eyes, he found himself wondering how Keith had even gotten in to this school if he let his eyes destroy any sort of realism in his acting.

This was the goddamn Altean University of Art. This was his dream school and yet somehow, the grime at the bottom of a trashcan ended up in the same class as him.

His irritation was spiked high in his bloodstream as he ground his teeth, letting out a strangled, “Just fine.”

Ezor's gaze flickered back and forth from boy to boy but didn't say much about what had happened, concern edged into her brow. Lance ran a hand through his hair, digging his fingernails into his scalp, attempting to calm himself at least a little bit.

Finding the girl with the aqua hair again, he stared straight into the her eyes, trying to focus on her instead of his irritation with Keith. With a smile, he introduced himself and gave a fake, yet heartfelt favorite date. But he didn't want to be so predictable as to name Christmas as his favorite day, how lame is that? He watched as she melted, her cheeks holding a blush, her fingers twisting around themselves. Making sure she was still watching him (unlike that stupid idiot Keith) Lance tossed the cat to the girl's open hands.

“Hi, I'm Plaxum,” she announced, sliding a peace sign up beside her face with a bright smile. “And my favorite day of the year would have to be April 26, because it's not too hot and not too cold; all you need is a light jacket!” She smirked and poked her tongue out of her mouth as a few people sent her a smile at the _Miss Congeniality_ reference.

Lance let out a small laugh at that and spent the rest of the time looking at her and tuning out the other people.

Class ended with promises of a more fulfilling activity next time. Lance kept his eyes from drifting to Keith and instead sought out those crystal blue irises and aquamarine hair. Plaxum seemed to be struggling to shove some book into her overflowing backpack. Lance didn’t even have a bag with him (not that he had much time to grab one before the class) and this poor girl was carrying three binders and at least four library books.

“Hey, Plaxum,” Lance said, attempting to sound suave and cool. He had been known as a bit of a ladies man in high school, and he hoped he hadn’t lost his touch. Breath catching slightly, he glanced over at Keith in the back of the classroom as thoughts of his high school girlfriends berated him. But he was determined to keep his confidence up, even if things had ended poorly with the last few girls.

“Hi, Lance.” Her voice was small and sweet and Lance was so happy that her kind smile was starting to outweigh the awfulness of seeing Keith.

“Pretty fun class, huh?” Lance asked, sauntering out of the room, Plaxum at his side, words starting to bubble out of her mouth. He watched the way her lips moved, the way her eyelashes brushed her face when she blinked, a light dusting of freckles kissing her nose and the tops of her cheeks. Sure, he was kind of desperate, but damn, she was gorgeous.

They chatted as they walked down the street, Lance never asked which way she was heading, knowing he was getting more and more lost, but her words were like a siren's song, enthralling him and guiding him along. “Hey, this is my dorm, so I should probably leave you now,” she told him with a laugh, threading her fingers through her hair.

“It was really great meeting you today, Plaxum. I'll see you around?” Lance debated asking for her number, but knew he'd at least see her in a week (if they didn't have any other classes together) and didn't want to come off too strong.

She passed him a kind smile and nodded with a small laugh before leaving him alone with his heartstrings in a mess on the side of the street, hopelessly lost on campus.


	2. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance find out that West Side Story will be their autumn musical at UA and both frantically start preparing for their auditions in a week. Amidst this chaos, Lance unexpectedly meets up with an old "friend".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this chapter out that really kickstarts the first half of the story! From here on I will most likely be posting about once a week :)

Keith was going to cry.

He hated crying but just this one time, it would be acceptable. If it weren't for his roommate (some quiet British kid named Rolo) sitting just feet away from him, Keith didn't think he'd be able to hold himself together.

The Altean University of Art was putting on _West Side Story_ as their fall musical.

He still remembered the first time he ever watched the musical.

Keith had been maybe eleven, squirreled away in the basement with Shiro. The video quality had been shitty and it kept glitching from the crappy wifi and the illegal website they were pirating it from, but the music had blown him away.

It hadn’t mattered to him that Tony and Maria were stupid to fall in love so quickly, he was obsessed with the way everything blurred out as soon as they saw each other at the dance. It was romantically overdramatized and that’s exactly why Keith loved it so much.

At the end, Keith had found himself wailing, clutching Shiro and sobbing about how it wasn’t fair. His older brother had probably silently cursed himself for showing the movie to Keith in the first place while quietly petting his hair, trying to comfort him.

From then on, he never let go of his intense fascination with the musical, going so far as to force his best friend, Acxa, to perform skits from the show with him for their parents. There was something about the simplicity of their love that called out to him, and that love for West Side Story stayed with him.

And now, he was going to be able to try out to be in it. He honestly couldn’t even believe that his freshman year he’d be given such an opportunity. His nerves were buzzing under his skin.

It was like he was back in his childhood basement; he was humming his favorite songs under his breath as he finished his English homework and sent an email to a confused ex-coworker who asked him to cover her shift.

As soon as he was done with all his work, his phone was in his hand, already dialing Shiro’s number. He probably started saying something but as soon as he picked up, Keith was trying not to yell through the phone, “It’s West Side Story!”

“For the school musical? That’s amazing, Keith!” Shiro replied, excitement mirroring his own. And then, distantly, Keith picked up Shiro’s voice, “Yeah, yeah, it’s my brother, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Oh, is Matt being impatient, huh?” Keith asked teasingly. He could almost see the blush coat Shiro’s cheeks as he struggled to come up with something to say.

Shiro ended up just letting a out a huff and then changing the subject. “So when are auditions? You’re going for Tony, right?”

“They’re in a _week_. And obviously I’m going to go for Tony, is that even a question?”

His older brother just laughed. “You were so obsessed with it when you were a kid. Not gonna lie, bud, it was kind of weird that over the years, it was always your favorite. I always imagined you be more into something like Phantom or Newsies.”

“You know I love both of those, Shiro. But there’s just something about West Side, about their love story--”

“It lasted two whole days! How can that be love?” Shiro asked, incredulous.

Keith gasped, “They were soulmates!”

“No they weren’t,” Shiro groaned. “The director stayed true to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, which he wrote specifically without soulmates to emphasize how stupid some people are, pointlessly trying to make a relationship work where it really shouldn’t.”

“You’re such a cynic, Shiro! The point of the musical is to show that love will persist whether you want it to or not. No matter the physical or emotional boundaries, if two people are meant to be together, they will be,” he explained decidedly.

Shiro couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “I guess there’s no arguing with you. But, I can only hope you do get cast as Tony with that sort of mindset.”

They didn’t talk much longer after that, since even Keith could hear the thinly-veiled threat yelled from the apartment bedroom Shiro shared with Matt.

And then he found himself searching for the movie once again, excitement running through him. Sure, he was up kind of late, but once he started watching it, he couldn’t force himself to stop.

He went to sleep with songs drifting through his mind, excitement already churning in his blood for auditions in a week. It was silly, he knew, to anticipate it so early, but he just couldn't help himself. Keith would do whatever it took to be in that musical.

~ ~ ~

Lance was painting a shimmery dark blue onto his fingernails when an inkling of happiness crawled up from his stomach and he felt a pinch in the sole of his foot. A warm smile pulled at his lips, glad that his soulmate was over the irritation they were feeling in the morning.

As his phone jumped from its place on the bed, Lance brushed some polish onto the side of his finger, letting out a curse as he placed the polish down and answered his phone, trying his best to not sound irritated when he grunted into the phone.

“West Side.”

“The west side of what, Pidge? You made me mess up my nails,” Lance shot back, pouting enough to make sure the girl could feel it on the other side of the phone.

Pidge sighed, rolling her eyes and continuing dryly, “West Side _Story_. School musical.”

“Holy shit! No way, really?” Lance sat up as straight as a rod, pressing the phone harder against his cheek, as if it would make the groggy Pidge speak faster. The poor thing had been trapped up in her room for a solid month over the summer (a mix of allergies and making blackmarket money doing hacking work) and actual human interaction was taking a toll on her. Plus, she'd had three classes today, all of which were full of geeky science nerds that craved friends.

But Lance was more than happy that he and Pidge were friends, especially since she could help him do “simple tasks” that seemed far too complicated for his brain to understand. But backdating tumblr posts and stealing selfies was like child's play to her, apparently.

“Yes, really. Auditions are next week. Just thought I'd let you know. G'night,” she mumbled, stifling a yawn and ending the call before Lance could say anything else to her.

Lance was immediately on the school theater site, searching for every inch of information.

Hunk popped out one of his earbuds and sent a smiley look to Lance. “What's up?”

Lance jumped out of bed and grabbed for both of Hunk's hands, pulling him away from his work, a smile bright on his face. “The fall musical is _West Side Story_! Hunk, I'm so excited!”

Hunk danced with Lance, letting out a small laugh. “Those are going to be some fun costumes, huh? All those skirts for 'America', oh god, I'm gonna die!” he groaned, smiling nevertheless. Lance assured him that everything would be fine before flinging his arms around Hunk's neck.

“I'm so excited,” he repeated, feeling his happiness burst from inside his chest. It was going to be a good year. He could feel it in his bones.

~ ~ ~

Rolo was a nice guy, honestly, but Keith craved for each moment he could spend alone.

With only a week to practice before auditions, it was hard not to ignore the urge that told him to sing in every open moment. So as soon as Rolo slipped out of the room, whether it was for a class or even just the bathroom, Keith couldn’t keep from singing. Whether it was his warm-up scales or his audition song or a song from the musical, it was hardly ever quiet.

He had never wanted anything as badly as this.

It was honestly a little horrifying to think that he only had seven days to perfect his song for the auditions. And it would be on that song alone that the auditioners would decide if he got a callback or not. So, after a few days of stressful waiting, the callback list would be posted and then (hopefully) he’d be able to show off his dancing and acting skills.

And that would be it.

In total, it was less than an hour in front of the judges, and that was _if_ he made it to callbacks. Every hope and dream was pinned on an hour with a panel of over-schooled music addicts who might not give him the role of Tony because he was too short.

But he was determined to show that his voice would be _enough_ to convince the judges that he was right for the role.

So he was going to sing until he could hit every note with deadly accuracy. He was going to sing until he could make his voice sound amazing on every single pitch. He was going to sing until he sounded like the Tony UA deserved.

Sure, maybe his neighbors pounded on the thin wall separating him and them after an hour of the same run of the song, but it's not like practice rooms would be available anyway, and Keith didn't need to be known as the perfect roommate or floormate.

He just wanted to be the best actor that had ever come through UA.

So for the next week, he was determined to avoid all types of sugar and speak as limitedly as he possibly could and spend every second of every free minute practicing. Maybe he looked like a lunatic mumbling his lyrics as he walked down the street, the song pounding in his ears, trying to make sure he could sing it perfectly in his sleep.

Keith was not going to leave this up to the auditioners. He wanted to make sure that he did everything perfectly, everything seeped with emotion, everything overflowing with love, both for the song he himself was singing, and for the character he was playing.

To embody something like that was truly to be an actor.

And Keith was just the actor to play that part perfectly.

~ ~ ~

He had half an hour until his basic design class started but his last class (American history, what a drag) was in the same building, so he found himself wondering the various hallways, trying to get himself lost but only ending up a half step away from where he started. But he did know where all the vending machines and bathrooms were, so that was definitely a plus.

Chips would be good, he decided. Now, if he could only find a dollar . . .

“Is that Lance? Oh my goodness, hi!”

The voice--the slight British accent and the bubbly tone--sent shockwaves throughout his body, his fingers stilling in their search for money. He denied the obvious for as long as he could, waiting until the tips of her shoes came into his view, his eyes pointed to the ground. “I can't believe you're here!”

Allura.

She looked radiant. He felt his heart pang in his chest. Somehow, he kept dredging up old memories even though college was supposed to be about a fresh start, a clean slate. Biting his lip, he swung his bag back onto his shoulder and gave a smile he hoped didn't seem too much like a grimace. “Hey, uh, Allura.”

She was a whirlwind of energy as words seemed to fall from her lips, her arms waving around wildly, accompanying her voice. Explaining how she was so lucky to have landed a job as a _teacher_ here in only the last couple weeks, Lance immediately felt his heart jump into his throat.

“Oh, that's, uh, so cool!” Lance forced through his teeth.

How was she here? Teaching at UA? When Lance and her had been a _thing_ , she had been a senior in UA, struggling to pin up a skirt for The King and I. And now she was a teacher?

She smiled and laughed, her teeth flashing brightly, her eyes squinting nearly closed as her smile overtook her features. “Yeah! I have my first class in like fifteen minutes, basic design!”

Allura was Lance's teacher.

Jesus christ, he'd fucked his teacher.

After getting out of a serious relationship that ended very poorly, he had sought out the comfort of someone without any strings attached. And Allura had been that person.

Maybe it had only been a couple of times, but still. It had only happened about a year ago, so the memories were relatively fresh in his mind. Sure, she had still been a struggling college student at the time, but now he'd have to see this ex-friend-with-benefits every single week.

He. Had. Fucked. His. Teacher.

“But, how are you, Lance?”

Her cheery voice was nearly too much for him to take with this sudden revelation. But her bright smile belied none of the inner turmoil he was suppressing deep in his soul. She seemed almost lighter than air, the way her silver hair bounced and her dark skin reflected the light angelically. She looked amazing.

And Lance had to swallow his instantaneous reaction, awkward words jumbling in his mouth, tongue too big and teeth getting all in the way. “Aha, ha, yeah, I, um. Yeah. Good. You?” He was so damn incoherent he could slap himself and probably still wouldn't know which way was up.

Her laugh was like bells chiming sweetly, birds singing, flowers blooming, “I'm doing particularly well, actually. I just got word that the musical this fall will be West Side Story! I'm looking forward to being the costume manager here!”

Well, seeing her moved from once a week to practically every day once rehearsals started. That was, if he got a role. Well, at least she was costume and not director, less contact, right?

“Alright, well I should be getting prepped for class, see you soon!” And she was off, her high heels clicking down the hallway.

All Lance wanted were some goddamn chips.

~ ~ ~

After struggling through basic design, Lance had an hour break and then a two hour ballet class. Mondays were his longest day, by far, with three classes stacked right on top of each other. So, fairly enough, he was dreading going to his ballet class.

But, he didn’t mind so much as soon as he got there and saw familiar crystal blue eyes and aquamarine hair tied into a bun atop her head, a few strands framing her face and ticking the back of his neck.

Not wasting any time, Lance dropped his bag and padded over to Plaxum, tapping her on the shoulder with a smile. “Fancy seeing you here,” he drawled.

She seemed pleasantly surprised, which only widened his smile. “Lance, hi!”

They dissolved into meaningless chit chat while they waited for the teacher to show up (they were early, there was no way the ballet teacher was going to be late, everyone knew that). Plaxum looked about sheepishly before mumbling for Lance only to hear that she was really nervous.

Lance couldn’t help it as he laughed out loud, receiving a funny stomp of a pointe shoe on the ground and pout from Plaxum. “I-I’m sorry! It’s just, look around, literally so is everyone else,” he reasoned, motioning smally to the others gathered haphazardly in the studio.

One girl was in a full split and kept nearly knocking her forehead into her knee. Another boy had been taking his shoe on and off for the past five minutes, rubbing the ball of his foot periodically.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Lance whispered back, placing a gentle hand on Plaxum’s shoulder. She smiled softly at him and something in his stomach twisted in a half-pleasant sort of way that brought a similar smile to his lips.

And then they were scrambling to the barre as the teacher walked in a closed the door loudly behind her with a stern look on her face. “Hello, class. This is a college-level ballet class at one of the most prestigious arts universities across the nation. If you thought you were signing up for something supplementary, you were wrong.”

Lance’s grip tightened on the barre, his palm already a little sweaty.

“This class will work you to the bone and I expect each and everyone of you to give me your absolute all. And, if that isn’t enough, I will be the first to let you know,” she threatened in a low voice, narrowing her eyes as she looked down the line of dancers holding position at the barre.

She started the music and loudly commanded the warm-up exercise. As Lance did his fifth set of pliés, sweat dripping down his brow, he truly realized that this teacher wasn’t messing around.

By the time the two hours were up, there wasn’t a single muscle that wasn’t aching.

He was covered in sweat and grime and he felt so unbelievably gross. The only guiding light was knowing that he truly was going to improve as a dancer through this class. And, West Side was heavy on the dance, so he knew, with this teacher, he would have an edge over those who did not.

Somehow, that made all the sweat and pain a little more bearable.

But not bearable enough to walk three blocks out of his way to walk Plaxum home, so he simply explained the situation with a laugh and a pleading smile.

“Oh, I totally get it! I have to work on my audition for West Side, anyway!” she replied cheerily, taking the elastic out of her hair and shaking her head to let the aquamarine strands frame her face once again.

Lance couldn’t help but let out a small, excited gasp. “No way! What role are going out for?”

“Maria!”

“I’m trying out for Tony! It’d amazing if we could be leads together, huh?” Lance told her with a broad smile and a bit of suggestion in his voice, a slight quirk of an eyebrow. She simply smiled and affirmed that it would be pretty cool before waving cutely and walking down the street, away from Lance.

It wasn’t like Lance had insufficient reason to practice his audition until perfection, but this was just an added bonus he could look forward to. And from Plaxum’s response, she wouldn’t mind the situation herself, either.

He was smiling all the way home, and got to work singing his audition song after lending his nice headphones to Hunk with a sympathetic smile. There was nothing but himself keeping him away from his goals, his dreams. If he worked hard enough at them, he knew that he could easily play the role of Tony, and he just had to show the judges that.

Easier said than done.


	3. Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auditions are finally here! But it's only the first of a few different obstacles our favorite boys are going to have to overcome in order to get a role in their university's production of West Side Story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a panic attack in this chapter
> 
> Introducing a new character in this chapter! I had a lot of fun playing with the different dynamics between characters since this is obviously a very emotionally-charged story!
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

Lance could hardly see straight. His eyes were blurring and his hands were shaking. Dammit, _he_ was shaking. Clutching his resume in sweaty palms, he attempted to envision himself confidently striding upon the stage and hitting every note perfectly.

And before he could even process that he probably should take deeper breaths--you know, stop hyperventilating--the door to the theater opened slowly, a petite boy thanking the auditioners before turning away and sending a petrified look to Lance. 

“Good luck, man,” the boy told him, his voice tiny and timid.

Holy shit. Lance could feel the boy’s nerves transfer into his bloodstream. Or maybe just _seeing_ the terrified guy made his own nausea triple, no voodoo witch magic needed.

And there was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing but tug open the door, feeling the pressure bite into his muscles. Lance took a few steps into the theater, the cold air immediately enveloping his skin. Taking a deep breath, Lance steeled himself before he popped a smile onto his face and forced his hands to stop trembling.

“Good afternoon! I’m Lance McClain and I’m auditioning for the role of Tony,” Lance announced with a bright grin, placing his resume on the table and stepping back a few feet away from the two people sitting at the table.

There was an older man with orange hair and an extremely imposing mustache obscuring his mouth sitting next to the one and only Allura. Goddamn.

His basic design teacher was now smiling at him as he nervously forced himself to keep his hands at the sides of his legs instead of wound around one another. “Go ahead, Lance,” she prompted sweetly, making his stomach flip flop. 

Shaking off as much of his nervousness as he was able to, he charged head-first into his audition song. 

Despite his nerves, he thought he was doing a pretty damn good job. He allowed his hands to roam the air in front of him, his feet taking a few steps across the stage, shoving as much raw feeling as he could into the notes. His voice was open, strong, and clear, each of his pitches perfect as he sang out with confidence.

With only a few bars left, he was amping up to make the ending the best thing the auditioners had heard.

“Thank you.”

Her voice was succinct and direct. It cut through his singing like a knife.

Lance could feel the blood stop pumping through his veins. His words were stuck in the base of his throat like vomit. Closing his mouth slowly and nodding, he knotted his shaking fingers together in front of him as he walked out, shoulders slumped, tears forming unwillingly.

“Th-thank you,” he croaked out as he pushed the door open and felt his hot tears slip down his cheeks. The air was warm and smelled of vanilla which made his stomach squeeze up, the nausea.

And, obviously, because the universe hates him, Lance locked eyes with none other than Keith in the lobby of the theater. There was no way he didn’t see Lance’s blotchy, tear-stained face, looking like an idiot. Jesus Christ, could he not catch a break? 

Ripping his eyes from Keith’s, he quickly forced his gaze back toward the exit and bolted from the building, his tears rolling down his cheeks as snot starting to drip down his lip. As his feet pounded into the pavement, the wind whistling past his ears, his thoughts overtook him.

He was an awful singer. 

There was no way around that. He had been _cut off_ in his audition. There wasn't anything else that could mean. Lance had gotten into one of the most prestigious art schools of the nation and he sucked. He would go through the four years and come out on the end with a degree that wouldn’t do him any good because he would never cast in anything anyway!

He was a fucking horrible singer and he was going to waste away one day and die on the side of the street.

As his panic began to darken the edges of his vision and numb his fingers and toes, his feet finally began to slow, shaking violently. He wrapped his arms around his midsection, breathing coming in short gasps as he wandered down the street.

Nervousness built up in his bloodstream as he frantically wiped the tears from his cheeks and stopped outside of some random shop, attempting to calm himself down as his thoughts spiraled. Looking around, he realized that he really shouldn’t have left the theater in such a panic.

He had no idea where he was. 

He didn’t even know which way he turned after he’d stumbled down the steps of the theater. Standing next to a building with a strange bunny girl as a mascot on a blue sign, Lance fished his phone out of his pocket.

Lance knew there was some way to find out where he was with the signal from his phone. But, his new phone had been a graduation gift and he hadn’t found the need to use location services since. He tried to open maps but he needed to unlock something in his settings and his anxiety-ridden mind couldn’t think past the warm city air and smog pressing up against him from all directions.

Everything was compounding upon him. The anxiety about school, the audition, being fucking lost. And stupidly enough, he was even concerned about what the strangers passing him were thinking as he wiped snot onto the sleeve of his jacket and tried to hold back his tears.

The smallest bit of his brain realized that he was having a panic attack, especially by the way he couldn’t seem to suck in enough air and his head was spinning and the numbing sensation was crawling up his arms and legs.

And, of course, it was _then_ that pain scalded the sole of his foot, irritation blossoming in the pit of his stomach as his soulmate shoved their feelings onto him. 

He _so_ could not deal with this right now. Managing his own whirlwind of emotions was bad enough; there was no way he could handle his soulmate’s. Taking a deep breath, Lance closed his eyes and took a mental step away from his soulmate, placing a cold sort of distance between them. 

Blissfully, if filled with a sort of hollowing sadness, the pain faded and the feelings churning in his stomach were his own.

Trying to keep his wits about him as he stumbled to the side of the building, Lance stared at his phone until he realized that there was definitely someone who could help him get home. Dialing the number, he chewed on his fingernails and pressed his shoulder into the cold, brick wall.

“What is it, Lance? I was just about to order pizza,” Pidge complained into the phone, and he could hear the tapping of laptop keys in the background of the call.

Unable to keep the tears out of his voice, Lance spit out quickly, “I’m lost and having a panic attack on a street corner.”

“O-okay,” her voice jumped into a serious tone and Lance could picture her going from her awkward lounge position on the couch to sitting up straight, crossing her legs. “Alright, so, on your phone I need you to go to your settings. In settings, I need you to find the button that says ‘location services’,” she explained gently and patiently, enunciating her words clearly. “Keep breathing evenly, alright? I'm going to sync up with your phone and I should be able to . . . okay, I've got you.”

Lance nodded before tapping open maps, having Pidge guide him through step by step. It was simple, really, but he didn't think he could have made it through without her words keeping him calm. He began to walk in the direction of his dorm, feeling slowly coming back into his legs as he stuttered down the street. Making sure to double check every street sign he passed, he kept listening to what Pidge was telling him, keeping his eyes on the map and avoiding the grates on the sidewalk.

When he was finally back in an area he recognized and his breathing had calmed a significant amount, he told Pidge, “I'm, uh, so sorry to bother you. Thank you so much for your help. I, uh, don't think I would have been able to make it home without you.”

“Hey, Lance, you can call me whenever you need. I'm always happy to help. Text me when you're back in your dorm and say hey to Hunk for me,” Pidge said, her voice soft and warm, a difference to her usual coarseness, but a side of her that Lance adored.

Lance flashed his student ID to the man at the front desk and climbed into the elevator. He then, because, as previously stated, the universe was out to get him, saw Keith clamor into the dorm building, anger forged into his shoulders. Pressing the “close door” button, he jabbed the 18th floor, catching Keith shove the doors to the stairs open before the elevator staggered to a start.

Finally making it to his room, he pushed the door open with tired arms. Lance hadn't meant to cry again, but as soon as Hunk had thrown off his headphones and excitedly asked how his audition went, he broke. Wrapping him up in his arms, Hunk rubbed warm circles on Lance’s back and reassured him that everything would be alright.

The boys spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled against one another, eating chips and watching The Bee Movie until Hunk's night class. Lance truly had the best friends in the world.

~ ~ ~

Keith was shaking. The skin pulled taut over his fingertips was dull red from repeatedly being pressed into one another, a nervous habit he'd had for years. 

He hadn’t planned on being late, in fact, he had planned on getting to the theater with at least fifteen minutes to spare, but when he couldn’t find his goddamn bracelet (the one Shiro had given him as a good luck charm before his first ever performance as Peter Pan when he was 6), it seemed the universe had other plans for those extra fifteen minutes.

So once he found it, he had slipped his bracelet on and sprinted down the eight flights of stairs in order to make his audition in time. He even ended up shoving a few people out of his way as he raced down the street to the theater, which thankfully, wasn’t very far.

Heaving in gasps of air, Keith wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, smoothed down his shirt, straightened his jacket, and ran a hand through his hair, attempting to look semi-decent before walking into a life-defining audition. There were five other people who were early for their audition sitting in the lobby and he ignored them all with a stubborn arrogance.

Leaning against the doorframe to the theater with a crumpled print-out of the lyrics to his song in his pocket, he contemplated pulling it out and easing his nerves. But he was sure if he moved an inch he would throw up. Especially if a word in his head was different than the one on the paper. Sure, he wanted it to be perfect, but if there was something he messed up, he really didn't want to know moments before his audition. 

And he really didn't want to throw up on stage.

That reminded him of the time in second grade, when he was the Big Bad Wolf in their production of the Three Little Pigs, this ugly girl who had been the second dumbass pig had gotten on stage and stroked her chin like she was supposed to before projectile vomiting straight into the crowd. It was just a second grade play; the teachers had no idea the first two rows needed to be marked as a splash zone.

Shaking off his nerves with a violent exhale of breath, Keith squeezed his eyes shut, a mantra Shiro had drilled into him repeating in his head. 

_Patience yield focus_. 

He had to make sure his mind stayed on task: Do well in the audition. Get casted. Hopefully as Tony, but honestly, extra number two was starting to sound pretty nice.

No, no, no. He would not give in. He would be Tony. He would be the best Tony this whole damn planet had ever seen. Going over the song inside his head, he imagined himself hitting all the right notes, nailing all the vocal runs, and showing the auditioners what he was really made of.

As soon as Lance pushed his way out of the heavy theater door, Keith died a little inside. The boy was hiding his tears poorly and even in the flash second his blue eyes locked with his own, Keith could see his thin shoulders shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. 

Fuck.

Lance was out of the building like a flash, leaving in his wake a worried Keith. Worried that the auditioners were hard as nails, worried that the acoustics were trash, worried that there was no way in hell he was going to do well. Lance was a good singer and if the audition had shook him up—

_Stop._

_Retracting statement._

Keith was an amazing singer, better than anyone he knew, better than all his peers. He would be fine.

Re-injecting courage into his bloodstream, Keith rolled his shoulders back and pushed the heavy door open, the scent of dusty curtains hitting him as quickly as the blast of cold air. There was an older gentleman with carroty hair and an imposing mustache sitting next to a petite girl with flowing silver curls down her back and an irritated scowl on her face. 

“Hi!” Keith announced cheerfully, a smile bright on his lips. “I'm Keith Kogane and I'm auditioning for the role of Tony.” He gave his resume to the man and took a handful of steps backwards, keeping a small grin on his features even though their eyes were trained on the paper.

The girl grabbed a pencil and wrote something down hastily. Since the auditions were a capella, Keith awkwardly awaited a cue or a nod or anything like that, painfully listening to the girl's pencil against her notebook.

“Go ahead, my boy,” the man encouraged, leaning back in his chair and pulling the girl away from her paper with a gentle hand.

Keith let a small smile pass his lips before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hearing the first pitch in his mind before he opened his mouth to sing. Confidence surged through his voice as the notes came out strong and true (even though he dropped a few embellishments he’d practiced earlier).

He finished the song with an embarrassingly huge smile. From his own standpoint, he wanted to believe that he had done a good job at singing and letting the auditioners see who he was through his voice. Keith looked to the two adults sitting in front of him for some sort of validation for his feelings.

Yet, the auditioners’ faces were stone as the girl wrote something else down. No inkling of any emotion, not a drop of feeling.

“Thank you,” the man said before turning to one of the papers on the table, his interest moving away from Keith entirely. Keith sent his own word of gratitude into the air as he left the stage, feeling the irritation build in his blood. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he pushed out of the theater, his fists aching with suppressed frustration. 

Doubts began to creep in. He thought he did pretty well but he also thought he did pretty well in sixth grade when he was cast as a _mouse_ in Cinderella! 

The next guy, some douche bag with platinum blonde—almost white—hair slicked back and this heinous purple blazer on, sent him a toothy smile before strutting into the theater, oozing nauseating cockiness.

Keith was agitated and didn't know what to do with the excess energy in his fingertips as he strode quickly down the street, his feet pounding harshly into the sidewalk with each step, his head low, his jacket collar brushing his ears.

Maybe food would help.

Heading to the nearest pizza place, Keith angrily ordered two slices of sausage and pepperoni along with a diet coke. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed while he waited for his food, an air of gloom surrounding him.

“Oh my goodness! Hi!” a cheery voice broke through Keith's layers of aversion. He turned to see none other than his improv teacher, Ezor, striding right up to him with a bright smile on her face. She was holding the hand of who Keith assumed was the blind girlfriend she’d mentioned a few times (she _was_ holding the harness of a german shepherd).

How wonderful it was seeing her outside of school. Whoopee. “Oh, hi, uh, Ezor,” Keith awkwardly greeted, uncrossing his arms and scratching the back of his neck

“Narti, this is Keith, a freshman in my improv class. Keith, this is Narti, my girlfriend! And Kova, her puppy.” And Ezor evaporated into excited babble, patting the dog and scratching her ears. Narti let a faint smile tug at her lips as she pushed down the hood of her sweatshirt to reveal a cute bob of dark brown hair and straight-across bangs, a very 2000s era blue and pink headband placed in her hair.

“It's, ah, nice to meet you, Narti,” Keith said, slipping both his hands into his pockets for lack of something to do. The girl just nodded back, a smile never fully appearing, but the corners of her lips pulling up a slight bit more.

Keith's order was called and he said goodbye through gritted teeth to his teacher and her girlfriend, praising the ancients he’d decided on take-out.

~ ~ ~

Yeah, Keith was pretty sure he was going to get a callback, but he didn’t know if it would be for _Tony_ or not. The idea of being some Jet lackey with half of a stupid line in “Gee Officer Krumpke” left a bad taste in his mouth.

Yet, hope was afire in his chest, a sort of lightness in his fingertips even as he pressed them harshly into one another, trying to avoid the anxiety that sat next to his feelings of confidence.

Five or six people were crowded around the bulletin board while a small group of students stood around in the corner, one patting the other’s back with a sympathetic smile. Keith unapologetically pushed his way to the front of the group blocking the bulletin, trying to get a good look at the list.

His own name was singing through his mind as he scanned up and down the list, searching. A smile broke across his face as he spotted it:

_KEITH KOGANE . . . TONY_

Not only had he gotten a callback, but he’d gotten a callback for none other than the lead role! Excitement and pure, unadulterated joy erupted inside him as he clenched his hands into fists, energy bursting out of him.

With a smile pulling taught his lips, Keith continued to scan the list, seeing who else was given the opportunity to perform once again for the judges (no matter how emotionless they were). His eyes caught on a name that immediately dragged his smile down.

_LANCE MCCLAIN . . . RIFF_

After a moment, letting the idea of 1) Lance getting a callback and 2) it being for Riff, Keith felt his grin slide back onto his features. While it was slightly annoying that Lance had been considered good enough to get a callback, he was glad that he hadn’t been given the chance at Tony.

Now, he wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of Lance playing Tony’s best friend in the musical, but he’d take that over fighting for the lead role any day. Not that it would be much of a fight. Obviously. 

And, it wasn’t like either of them had even been given the roles yet, but there was only one other student called back for Tony. Someone named Lotor Galrazel.

“Tony! Yes!” 

And it seemed like he was standing right next to them.

Keith turned slightly to see the person who’d gone in to audition after him--white hair, hideous purple blazer. Before he really thought through it, the question was falling off his lips, “So you’re Loot-ore?”

He cleared his throat and took one long stride toward him, managing to make Keith shuffle backwards until they were no longer blocking the bulletin board. “Lotor,” he re-pronounced with a small, slimey grin. “Who might you be?”

“Keith. I-I, uh, I’m the other person who got a callback for, uh, for Tony?” he stuttered out, suddenly very self-conscious about how tall Lotor was, looming over him. 

His smile fell for half a second, his eyebrows furrowing for but a moment before Lotor’s lips were alight with another charming grin. “Oh. Well, may the best man win, I assume,” he replied smoothly, taking a step toward him, leaning down a little menacingly.

With a jump, Keith realized he was essentially trapped, his shoulder bumping into the wall. Lotor’s smile may have been bright, but his eyes were narrowed. “Break a leg, Keith,” he told him in a low voice, tinted with anger.

Once Lotor finally turned and walked away from him, Keith finally felt like he was able to breathe again. 

Fuck that guy. Intimidating freshmen with fake smiles and creepily forcing them against a wall with the sheer weight of their ego? Low blow.

But all he needed was one more glance at his name on the callback list and his smile was tugging his lips once again.

~ ~ ~

After what had happened the last time he’d set foot in the theater, Lance was reluctant, to say the least, to crawl out of bed just to see his name _not_ on the callback list. Yet, like a moth to a light, he shoved shoes on his feet and began to trudge toward the theater. It ached in his chest, the pain of lost hope and broken desires.

Suddenly, pain burst from the sole of his foot, the constellation mark burning. Exuberance fluttered in the bottom of his stomach, shoved onto him from his soulmate.

And as much as he was happy for them that they were happy, now was not the time that he needed opposing emotions raging inside. So, almost angrily, he blocked himself from his soulmate’s feelings, the numbing, cold sensation spreading up from the bottom of his foot. 

Lance dragged his feet down the block, hands balled into fists in his pockets.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he plodded up the stairs and pushed past several gaggles of people huddled in the theater lobby. Squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment, he stood in front of the list for half a second before forcing himself to scan the names printed there.

 _This wasn’t part of the plan,_ Lance thought desperately as he stared at his name on the callback list. There it was, starkly printed about seventh down on the list of almost 30 student names. But, the issue (if he could even call it that) was the character name posted across from his name:

_LANCE MCCLAIN . . . RIFF_

He had been asked to callback for Riff. So, no, it wasn’t a part of his plan. But was it an issue?

No. No, it wasn’t an issue, he decided slowly as he stood in front of the bulletin with a dumb look on his face, a few other students standing around him, gossiping. Considering the deeply-rooted belief that his name wouldn’t even appear on the list, it didn’t quite matter to him what character the auditioners believed he was best fit for.

With his heart fluttering in his chest, Lance suddenly found that there was no possible way to wipe the wide grin off his face, even as he passed Keith (who was weirdly standing in the corner of the lobby, some white-haired beanstalk talking to him in an ugly purple blazer) on his way out of the theater.

While it didn’t take his smile, it did send an itching in his veins to know who Keith had gotten a callback for. But pure pride kept his feet en route to his next class, no matter how his curiosity begged him to turn around.


	4. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Callbacks. Our favorite boys allow themselves to get all riled up by one another, making mistakes that have consequences neither expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Krolia isn't Keith's mom or related to him in any way in this fic! If I'm being honest, I just ran out of characters that I like that could suit her position in this piece, so please don't be confused! If you are, though, you are more than welcome to leave me a question in the comments and I will do my best to answer it :)  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter !

The excitement was all good and well and his entire family knew he’d gotten a _real college callback_ and Hunk and Pidge drowned him in hugs and excited babble. But then he realized he actually had to _do_ the callback. Like. Dance and act for Allura (a problem in of itself), Coran, the director, and the choreographer he had yet to meet.

Singing was easily his best trait. Dancing, sure, he had a handle on it (he was best at ballet and tap). And acting he could be considered within the realm of exceeding the average, but coming second to Keith throughout all of middle and high school really shattered his vision of himself.

Keith was sort of a legend. Well, he was kind of amazing. It physically pained Lance to admit that that asshole was a bit breathtaking to watch the emotions flow so naturally, the words fall so easily. It was all so damn believable.

But it didn’t matter. Lance was going to do the best that he possibly could for callbacks, which were only a week after the first round, or four days after the list was posted.

So, that lead him to where he was the night before the callback, splayed out on the floor of the dance studio he had scheduled out for the evening. Although he technically had ran out of time thirty minutes ago, no one had come barging in demanding the space so he’d simply stayed, working himself to the bone. 

Laying there, Lance let dialogue roll off his tongue, a slight twinge of a New York City accent coloring the words. He didn’t have many of Riff’s lines memorized, but he settled for saying things like, “Now, Anybodys, head on back home. There’s no room for girls here,” and “Alright, Jets, this is our turf, and we gotta defend it.” 

It might had been dumb, but without knowing what scene he was going to be reading for the callback, it didn’t make much sense to memorize Riff’s lines. Especially if he didn’t even get the role in the end.

Muscles aching in protest, he pushed himself to his feet before starting the music once more and going through his routine again, sweat rolling down his spine.

The choreographer/dance captain would be giving the auditionees a routine to perform for them tomorrow, and Lance wanted to make sure he’d be able to nail anything they threw at him. He attempted to work every muscle a little harder, stretch just a little further, spin a bit quicker.

With a determined smile, Lance wiped his face down with his towel as he flicked off the lights to the studio and staggered out, the time nearing midnight. While he wouldn’t exactly call himself confident, he was as prepared as he was going to be, and that was that.

Anxiety quietly bubbled in his stomach as he started walking back to his dorm. He would have believed it to be his own if it wasn’t accompanied by the slight burn on the sole of his foot. With a sigh, Lance thought crudely that he hoped his soulmate felt everything _he_ was feeling because it was tiring to worry so much about them when he hadn’t even met them.

Even if it didn’t ever work (there was no way of knowing), Lance imagined his compassion and warmth surrounding his soulmate’s emotions, trying to send them a sense of comfort. But, after his long work out, he lacked the energy to truly focus on his soulmate, and he gave up trying to make them feel better as he walked the last few feet into his dorm.

As he dragged himself into his building, he nearly collapsed into the elevator, exhaustion worked into his bones, lazily tapping the 18th floor button and leaning his shoulder into the side of the elevator. Lance furrowed his brows as he noticed Keith playing with his fingers and staring intently at the doors to the stairs. Just . . . standing there. As the doors closed, Lance couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. He forced himself to shrug it off and feel the vibrations of the elevator shaking his shoulder.

Thankfully, he didn’t have anymore time to ponder whatever the hell Keith was up to because as soon as he fell into bed, he was fast asleep.

~ ~ ~

While Keith wasn’t worried about the acting portion of the callback, but dancing? He wasn’t the best and he knew it. While he could do some jazz and hip-hop moves pretty well, the kind of dancing required in West Side was not the type that Keith could consider himself good at.

So he found himself in one of the school’s dance studio that he had signed out for the night. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. An annoying understatement. Keith wanted nothing more than to be able to say he was confident for the callback the next day.

But instead he was fighting the urge to give up because he wasn’t going to get any better anyway. Logically, he knew it was just anxiety spiraling out of control as his music faded into a new song that he wasn’t even listening to anymore. Nevertheless, he’d only been practicing for a couple hours and his muscles were already straining, aiding the voice in the back of his head.

Balling his fists and taking another drink of water, Keith closed his eyes and let the music fall over him. The beat was strong and the melody was soaring over top rather beautifully. Taking a deep breath, Keith allowed his eyes open slowly before letting his body fall in line with the music.

Starting slow, he focused on extensions and balancing himself until his muscles were shaking. He worked his pulse up and practiced his jumps, making certain that he was catapulting himself into the air at the correct angles and his legs in the right positions. Then it was spins; slapping his eyes back to the same spot again and again as he maintained his body in a straight, taut line.

Maybe it wasn’t a cohesive routine like the callback would be tomorrow, but the hour or so he had spent completely focused on simply _practicing _had eased his anxiety.__

__His mind just a little bit calmer, Keith allowed himself to be a slave to his aching muscles and turned to leave the studio. But just as he was heading out, through the window of the studio next to him, he spotted none other than Lance._ _

__Lance, looking sweaty and tired as if he had been working for a while. Lance, who was dancing with beautiful extensions. Lance, who was spinning like a damn top. Lance, who was _not_ going to show him up, especially since he got a callback for a second-rate, sidekick roll._ _

__Sure, Keith knew that Tony didn’t dance half as much as the rest of the Jets, and Riff probably danced the most out of anyone in the whole show, but that was the besides the point. Keith wanted to be the best on out there, no matter what._ _

__So, Keith bit his lip and stalked back into his studio, throwing his bag to the ground and switching the music back on. He was irritated that he was so infuriated and, for lack of a better word, obsessed with being better than Lance. But he tried to wash away all the negative feelings and let the music take hold of him once again._ _

__All it took was one bad jump._ _

__He pushed off with one foot instead of two and felt himself flying awkwardly through the air. That was until, of course, he came crashing down._ _

__Landing on one foot, he immediately felt his ankle buckle and his calf muscle give out, toppling to his hands and knees, hard. Hissing through his teeth, Keith squeezed his eyes shut as he hung his head, waiting until the pain passed._ _

__But, problem was, it didn’t pass._ _

__Keith’s ankle was throbbing. Gingerly, he rolled over to sit down on the studio floor, trying not to panic. Ever so gently, Keith attempted to roll his ankle. He couldn’t bite back the gasp of pain that passed his lips._ _

___Fuck_._ _

__He wanted so badly to blame it on Lance. If only Lance hadn’t been practicing in the room next to him, he wouldn’t have tried to practice more. If only Lance had left before him, he wouldn’t have seen him at all. But Keith knew it was all his own damn fault. For falling victim to his insecurities and his obsession of being the best._ _

__And he was going to have to suffer the consequences. Whatever they may be._ _

__With hesitant, probing fingers, he poked and prodded at his ankle, trying to pinpoint where it hurt. In summary, the majority of his ankle was in pain, but it was radiating from a spot on the inside of his leg, right above the bone that protrudes out a little bit. Okay, so Keith had no idea what to do._ _

__He did, however, know that the first steps would be to get home, ice it, and elevate it. But, the first part was going to be more difficult than he was willing to admit._ _

__Tentatively, he stood up, breathing out through his nose. Thankfully, the pain didn’t worsen all that much when he put pressure on it. It seemed to do alright if he limped awkwardly and only but weight on the outside of his foot. Still, getting home was going to be a challenge._ _

__And of course this had to happen the fucking night before callbacks. He knew his pain tolerance was high (at least physically), and that he would still be able to audition, but there was no way he was going to impress the auditioners._ _

__But, there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was treat it nicely until then._ _

__As soon as he limped into his building, his stomach dropped. Like he did every damn day, he walked over to the entrance to the stairs. But unlike every damn day, he wasn’t sure if he could make it up eight flights of stars on his ankle._ _

__So he stood there, like a fucking idiot, staring at the doors and picking at his fingernails. Of course he knew the sane thing to do would be to just take the elevator. But he also knew that the elevators were unreliable and small and what if something went _wrong_ they were so cramped and he would--_ _

__Nope. It was nearing midnight and he was lucky as fuck to not have hurt himself worse than he did, so while he knew that he couldn’t really risk making his ankle worse, his mental state was important too._ _

__Taking a deep breath, he started to slowly make his way upstairs._ _

__Everything was going to be okay._ _

__~ ~ ~_ _

__Well, that’s what he kept telling himself as he pressed his fingertips together, his knees almost knocking together as he stood outside the theater. Warm autumn air breezed by him, sending strands of hair across his face._ _

__After icing and propping his foot up on several pillows, Keith’s ankle only twitched with pain every so often. He’d ended up grabbing an uber to the nearest convenience store and buying an ace bandage to wrap it up and increase stability._ _

__But, standing outside the theater, only fifteen minutes before the start of the callback, his ankle really wasn’t occupying his thoughts very much._ _

___Patience yields focus_ , he thought as he squeezed his eyes closed, taking in a deep breath to center himself. With one foot at a time, he forced himself into the building, walking past the empty lobby and wrapped his trembling fingers around the door handle to the theater._ _

__One more deep breath and he was pushing himself inside, a confident, yet small, smile on his lips as the scent of dust and fabric hit him._ _

__Coran, Allura, and a woman Keith assumed to be the dance choreographer were standing in a small circle on stage, voices low as three sets of eyes slid over to him._ _

__He forced a bigger grin and quickly walked to the back of the theater where the other people had already dropped their stuff and were huddled around. Lotor--the white-haired stranger who had nearly assaulted Keith at the callback posting--sent him a strange look. It seemed as though his eyes were glaring and yet he had a bright smile on his face._ _

__A girl with aquamarine hair that Keith vaguely recognized from his improv class was chatting with a girl who had short, brown curls in a ponytail showing off the bleached underside. He was pretty sure they had both been given a callback for Maria. Briefly, he marveled at the differences between the girls’ relationship and his with Lotor. The way competition changes people was something unique, he thought numbly._ _

__Five minutes before the start time, Lance came bounding into the theater with energy and a wide, fake smile. Even Keith could feel the anxious atmosphere suffocating the performers._ _

__Keith watched in horror as Lance wrapped the girl with blue hair in a hug. Their intimacy seemed to suggest that they were dating, or at least seeing each other. _That’s_ never a good idea, coming into a new production with feelings for someone? There were way too many things that could go wrong and ruin an entire performance with petty, real-life feelings._ _

__Unable to help himself, Keith made a face and turned away, smoothing his sweaty hands on his pants and adjusting his navy v-neck with nervous, reddened fingertips. The callbacks were going to start soon and Keith allowed himself to be intimidated._ _

__Not just by the capabilities of the other actors, but also of the auditioners, the stage, the bright lights. He didn’t get a chance to revel in the horrible feeling of incompetence and utter fear. Coran’s voice sliced through the distance between them, strong and commanding._ _

__“Welcome!”_ _

__Silence rang harshly through the back of the theater, each of the students tensing and turning toward the stage._ _

__“As many of you know, I am Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, the director of the underclassmen musical!”_ _

__That was another reason Keith knew so many of those who’d gotten a callback. Seniors had their own show and ran everything by themselves (from director to costuming to music, it was all seniors) as a sort of final-project-type thing? Whatever it was, he was excited to not only have a better role in this musical, but be a part of the renown UA Senior show in four years._ _

__Keith shook himself out of his daydream and focused back on the stage where the girl with dark skin and silver curls was introducing herself. “And I’m Allura, the costuming director!”_ _

__Then all pairs of eyes turned toward the other woman standing on stage had her arms crossed and her hip popped to one side. She was much closer to Coran in age than Allura, and had her dark brown hair cut in a bob with a long rat’s tail running halfway down her back, a pink and purple bead dangling at the end. It was kind of weird, but Keith didn’t care at all, as long as she was a good teacher. “You may call me Miss Krolia. I’m the dance instructor and choreographer.” Her tone was icy and sharp._ _

__It was going to be a rough callback._ _

__~ ~ ~_ _

__Of course Lance was late._ _

__Sprinting down the street, his bag slipping off his shoulder, he was cursing under his breath as he dodged other people on the sidewalk. The cool, musty scent of the theater enveloped him as he smashed himself through the doors, panting. Taking a moment to center himself in the lobby, Lance rolled his shoulders back and gently opened the door the theater, plastering a wide smile on his face as he made his way to the back of the space._ _

__His grin turned from something stage-worthy to something meant only for Plaxum as he slung his arms around her and squeezed tight. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Keith’s face twist as he turned away. Lance just hugged Plax tighter, ignoring the fluttering in his chest._ _

__The three teachers (he had to keep things with Allura strictly professional) stood on the stage, looming large shadows over the hardwood of the stage. Voices cracking stiffly through the tension in the air, they introduced themselves with varying degrees of enthusiasm, drawing a strained silence over the students gathered in the back of the theater._ _

__Lance felt a chill walk down his spine as Krolia seemed to stare right into his soul, announcing her role as choreographer. With icy, dark eyes, her willowy frame made it easy to see how she would be a dancer, prim and proper. Yet, her hair was a choppy, dark brown bob with an offshoot of long hair in the back, two beads dangling on the end. He was definitely not looking forward to learning any dance routine from her, fear bouncing in his fingertips._ _

__Coran cut through the mood with a bright smile and announced, “Alright, can we have everyone on stage? Everyone spread out!” Wild hand gestures and all, the students left their bags and whatever other shit they’d brought with them in the back of the theater and began up the aisles._ _

__The stage lights were harsh as Lance tried not to obviously tremble walking up the small flight of steps. He stood on the complete opposite side the the stage than Keith, who had his arms crossed and a scowl screwing up his lips. Taking a deep breath, Lance shook off his fears, his intimidation, his wariness._ _

__Coran and Allura hopped off the stage and began discussing something in a low voice, sitting in the front row of the audience. Krolia commanded the attention of the students with a sharp, succinct clap, causing Lance to jump slightly._ _

__Krolia explained that they would all be doing the same choreography. She would teach it to them (more like bark orders and extremely unclear corrections, but Lance would only find that out later) as a group, and then smaller sections of three or four would perform it for her and she would judge them based on that._ _

__After all the dancing, of course, they would be brought to stage individually to read a side for the character, completely dry, without any prep._ _

__With a deep breath, Lance centered himself, trying to keep his mind solely on dance, on the words coming out of Krolia’s mouth, on executing the moves as he imagined what they should, theoretically, look like. It honestly wasn’t too hard, but it was fast and athletic, meaning if you missed or forgot one move, it was nearly impossible to get back in time._ _

__Without meaning to, Lance glanced over to see Keith, in the front row of the block of students, showcasing his talent. And Lance _did_ have to admit he was talented. _ _

__But that admission made his blood boil. It made his fingers ache to be curled into fists. It made his stomach churn with emotions individual to himself. It made his skin prinkle._ _

__As stupid as their rivalry may be, admitting that Keith’s succinct, sharp motions were all too graceful and all too perfect was like a slap in Lance’s face. It made him _angry_ that there was nothing he could do to deny the fact that Keith had talent._ _

__But with his competitive spirit burning in his veins, he took a deep, cool inhale and channeled all that rage into his lengthening his spine, pointing his toes, and being even better than Keith. Because, maybe, just _maybe_ , if he could be better than Keith at _one_ thing, he wouldn’t be haunted by the past, by the memories that dragged him down._ _

__So he shoved Keith out of his mind and focused solely on himself, making sure he was executing the moves to the best of his ability._ _

__And then practice was done._ _

__Three people were chosen to stay on stage while the rest were ushered back into the audience to watch. Lance watched as Luxia’s hands shook, even poised perfectly in front of her, waiting for the music to start. He could just barely make out the profile of Krolia’s face from where he was sitting, and he decided right then that when he got called up to perform the routine, he was going to look _anywhere_ else but at Krolia._ _

__Her face was like stone, untelling of any sort of emotion. Even from afar, it sent a chill down his spine, fear working its way into his blood._ _

__And of course, that fear only multiplied when he was called up with three other students. One of those students was Keith, obviously (and Lance can only assume this is because the universe hates him), who gave him a sidelong glance, full of ire and something else he can’t quite place but certainly doesn’t like._ _

__They formed a haphazard rectangle on the stage and wait for the music to start, muscles twitching with anticipation and fear. The second the music striked the tension in the air, Lance’s mind went blank. He was on pure autopilot as he performed the moves, keeping his eyes trained on the blaringly-red exit sign alit in the back of the theater._ _

__Heartbeat roaring in his ears, Lance tried to focus his breathing and match it with the rhythm of the music, attempting to gain at least a bit more awareness of his body as he flung himself through the choreo. Of course, by the time he has enough control over himself to actually make a conscious effort to point his toes and straighten his spine, he’s poised in the ending pose, the music fading out._ _

__And that’s it. He was blinding tripping off the stage, blinking rapidly to keep his anxiety from pricking the corners of his eyes with tears._ _

__One look at Keith’s smug smirk on his face and Lance’s heartbeat was back in his ears, persistent and fast. Letting a glare fall onto his features, Lance may have _gently_ shoved Keith out of the way as he stalked down the stairs._ _

__This small, obviously accidental, misstep on Lance’s part incited Keith to press a his palm into the space between Lance’s shoulder blades and push. Damn, did he push _hard_._ _

__Missing the last three stairs, Lance tumbled through air, both hands and knees slamming into the rough carpeting at the bottom of the stairs. With a huff and little care for the others in the theater, he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the ache in his knees, and turned toward Keith._ _

__Stabbing a finger into his chest, even as he stood two stairs higher than him, Lance yelled, “What’s your problem, Kogane?”_ _

__In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have done that._ _

__Keith furrowed his brows in disgust and curled his lip, “My problem? You shoved me first!”_ _

__“No I didn’t!” Lance retorted, pressing all ten fingertips into Keith’s chest roughly._ _

__“Yes you did!” Keith yelled back, flopping down the last two stairs and shoving Lance back, palms connecting harshly with his collarbones._ _

__“Did not!”_ _

__“Did too!”_ _

__Like a bunch of fourth graders in the recess yard. Except they weren’t in fourth grade. And they definitely _weren’t_ in the recess yard._ _

__In fourth grade they probably would have been admonished by the teacher and told to play nice with one another. But in college, things happened a little differently._ _

__Coran had his arms linked behind Lance’s elbows in a matter of moments, dragging him away. One student had been trapped on the stairs behind Keith when the scrimmage had started, so he had a tense hand digging into Keith’s shoulder, keeping him back._ _

__“O-oh, Mr. Smythe, I, uh--oh god--Mr. Smythe, I’m so sorry!” Lance spit out shakily after being walked several paces away from Keith. His eyes were wide and tears threatened as his throat started to constrict his breathing._ _

__Coran didn’t even acknowledge that Lance spoke. Instead he took a few steps toward Keith until he was in between them both. His eyes were as calm and deadly as the ocean after a storm. “I will see both of you in the theater office after callback are done. Now, get to your seats and prepare for the acting portion. Do you understand?” While his australian accent lilted the tone ever-so-slightly, they were definitely in serious trouble._ _

__Krolia called the next group of dancers up like nothing happened. Lance, on the other hand, was shaking so badly that he hardly made it back to his seat before his legs gave out, pins and needles stabbing into his feet and prickling his fingers._ _

__Squeezing his hand, Plaxum offered a small, gentle smile and warmth as she leaned slightly against him. Slowly, Lance fell into the rhythmic breathing alongside his girlfriend, the numbness starting to disintegrate moment by moment._ _

__It was like no time at all had passed when the dance groups finished up._ _

__Next, the acting portion; the students would be asked to read a “side,” a portion of the script, acting as their callback role. Everyone was ushered out of the theater to wait in the lobby as the students went in one by one._ _

__Lance had to consciously prevent himself from thinking about how goddamn _stupid_ he was for getting into a scuffle with Keith at fucking _callbacks_ where literally everyone he had to impress was watching and judging._ _

__But that’s exactly what he _wasn’t_ going to think about. So he took a deep breath and squeezed Plaxum’s hand as he watched Keith confidently stride into the theater as the white-haired junior held the door open for him, looking stressed._ _

__Plaxum rubbed her thumb in a gentle circle on his palm, her crystal blue eyes locking with his own. “You totally got this, Lance!” she whispered encouragingly with the prettiest smile he’d ever seen._ _

__Pressing a chaste kiss to her lips, Lance whispered back his thanks with a grin._ _

__All of the sudden, Plaxum yelped as Lance squeezed her hand too hard, his vision going white for a second. He suppressed a groan as his foot flared with burning pain, anxiety crashing into him with a force much stronger than what he was used to receiving from his soulmate._ _

__But now really, _really_ wasn’t the time that he could handle the sort of emotion that his soulmate was going through, especially when he had his own coil of anxiety dropped in the bottom of his stomach to deal with. _ _

__Ignoring Plaxum’s concerned gaze, Lance steadied himself and took a breath, feeling the pain in the sole of his foot, and then taking the conscious effort to push away from it, distance himself from his soulmate. It left him feeling cold and empty, as usual._ _

__Before his girlfriend could question him, Keith was pushing out of the theater, stone-cold look on his face, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Lance gave Plaxum a reassuring smile and a word of luck before she confidently strode into the theater, a smile plastered onto her face._ _

__Lance tried not to watch, but he took note of how Lotor leaned against the wall and held a conversation with Keith, his eyes narrowed like a hawk’s. But, whatever, it wasn’t any of Lance’s business what Keith did in his free time. Plus, he already knew more than he cared to about Keith (not that he enjoyed dwelling upon that)._ _

__And he didn’t have time to dwell on it either, because soon Plaxum was back and Luxia was waltzing into the theater, jolting Lance into realizing that he was next. He was next and he was going to do so bad, certifiably awful, and it wasn’t like he was going to get the role anyway because he incited an almost-fight with the guy who was probably going to get the lead even if he spit on the director, and he was going to do so bad, he couldn’t even think--_ _

__Plaxum’s cool fingers slipped onto his cheeks. Her bright blue eyes were right in front of him. She was slightly smiling. “Hey, breathe. It’s going to be okay. Just do your best, Lance.”_ _

__He pressed his forehead against hers and smiled, calming himself down significantly. “What would I do without you?” he asked quietly._ _

__She wasn’t given the opportunity to answer as the theater door swung open, Luxia stuttering out of the door with a grimace. Lance smiled wide at his girlfriend and tried to suppress the feelings of anxiety and self-doubt as he slipped into the theater, keeping his smile on his face._ _

__Picking up his side from the table set out in front of Allura, Coran, and Krolia were sitting. His hands were shaking._ _

__Centering himself on stage and in his mind, he read the first line in a commanding voice, recognizing the scene to be from when the Jets were organizing themselves before the rumble with the Sharks. Coran read the next line from Diesel, Riff’s right hand. Moving about the stage slightly, Lance tried to embellish his words with hand motions and intense looks to the three adults sitting in front of him._ _

__It wasn’t long, just one sheet of paper, just seven lines of banter and leaderly instruction. Almost as soon as it had started, it was over. In his mind, he believed he performed well enough for his own standard. But was it good enough to get him the role?_ _

__Honestly, he doubted it. But when _didn’t_ he doubt himself?_ _

__Allura offered him a smile as he set the paper down, making his stomach turn for a completely unrelated reason. And then he was back in the theater lobby, sitting down with a sigh and holding Plaxum’s hand tensely. Now, all he could do was wait._ _


	5. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance accidentally make a show of the bad blood between them and Coran ended up having to step in. Now, the boys sit in wait to see what the director has in store for them and their future on the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only took me 5 chapters to get to where the summary ends haha  
> I hope everyone has been enjoying so far! I'd like to think that this chapter has some more drama and some hints dropped for the mystery of Keith and Lance's past!  
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Keith was bouncing with nervousness, his elbows dug into his knees as he held his face in his hands, sitting in the theater lobby. Over on the other side of the room, Plaxum and Lance were talking in soft voices while Lotor dug through his bag a few seats down from him. Save for them, everyone else had left.

He felt like such an _idiot_.

Getting baited by Lance grated on his nerves because as much as he could blame Lance for getting him in trouble, he could blame himself twofold. And it was aggravating.

Not to mention he was already trying to calm himself down from the audition, he really didn’t need to be worrying about outside factors (i.e, Lance) keeping him from getting the role of his dreams. It used to bother him that he got so nervous for auditions, simply because he’d auditioned so many times before. But, it didn’t take too long to realize that there was nothing to be done. Auditions simply meant nausea and trembling fingers and forced smiles.

The acting portion of callbacks were no exclusion from the rule. As soon as he had stepped into the theater, he was swallowing down anxiety, shoving it away from him and his shaking hands. He had acted pretty well, he guessed, especially since it was a scene that he was familiar with (let’s be honest, was there a scene he _wasn’t_ familiar with?) where he’s talking to Maria after singing “Tonight.”

He knew the paper was trembling in his sweaty grip, but the smile was genuine on his face as he bid Maria (aka Allura, reading stiffly) goodnight. And then he looked back down at the short script in his hand and felt the harsh grip of stomach-dropping fear.

Keith almost skipped a line.

It was dumb, but the way that he was so focused on nothing but doing well, he could feel another wave of nausea crash over him as he paused a second too long before he could get the right line out. It was the second to last line, anyway.

Soon enough, he was smiling broadly and placing the side back down on the auditioners’ table. His grin fell off his features as soon as he turned his back to the stage and started walking down the stairs.

And then he suffered through an awkward and short conversation with Lotor as he questioned the freshman about the side he’d had to read and the way Allura had read for Maria. Keith got out from under Lotor’s suffocating gaze as quickly as possible, but it wasn’t like he could leave.

So he sat down and thought about how stupid he was instead.

After what felt like an eternity, Coran pushed open the door of the theater office, silently inviting Keith and Lance in. His legs felt like jello as he stumbled into the small, stuffy room, two steps behind Lance.

The tension in the air was palpable and bitter. Coran perched himself on the edge of his fancy, overstuffed, red armchair, gesturing for the boys to sit in the conveniently-placed chairs in front of his wide desk.

Neither of the boys looked at each other, nor did they volunteer to speak first. Keith’s hands were fists lying stiffly on top of his thighs while he suppressed the urge to bounce his legs up and down. It was suffocating, waiting for Coran to say something, _anything_ to break the awkwardness in the air of the office.

“So, my boys, would either of you care to explain why I had to pull you two apart today?” he questioned, tone light, yet edged with anger.

Keith opened his mouth but closed it slowly as he realized his throat was probably too dry to get the words out even if he did have something to say. Sending a look to Lance, he waited for the other boy to begin explaining, since he had pushed Keith first.

“Well, uh, you see, Mr. Smythe,” Lance started, hesitant. “I’ve known Keith since seventh grade.”

Keith furrowed his brows, unsure of where he was going with stating a random, and rather pointless, fact about their fucked-up relationship. Even Coran raised an eyebrow at his words.

“So, uh, you see, I’ve been auditioning against this ass--uh, this Keith for quite a few years now,” Lance blabbered on. Keith narrowed his eyes, fully aware of the words he had bitten off, but he kept his mouth shut and allowed the boy to flounder for some reason other than _I fucking hate this guy_ to have pushed him around.

“And one of those years, we started to play this, uh, well, this game called the, um, ‘Break a Leg’ game.” Lance’s eyes were bright as he wound the story, keeping his gaze trapped on Coran’s even as he stuttered through his words. “So, naturally, I thought Keith would have remembered this fun little game we used to play. Turns out he didn’t remember?”

Watching as Lance slid a grin and hopeful eyes his way, Keith feigned surprise before putting a hand to his forehead and disregarding Coran’s existence in order to prove that he was having some sort of epiphany moment. “Oh! Oh my _gosh_ , I can’t believe I forgot. Classic ‘Break a Leg’ game. So sorry about that Lance, I thought you just shoved because I did such a good job dancing out there today. Haha, can’t believe I forgot that game.”

Okay, so he was laying it on pretty thick, but it wasn’t like Lance gave him much to work with anyway. Keith turned back to Coran with a smile, trying to uncurl his fists slowly. “You see, Mr. Smythe, it was all a big misunderstanding. I forgot I’d even _known_ Lance for, what? Seven years? It’s crazy how time flies, doesn’t it?”

“And I’m sorry too, for thinking your memory was better than it was, I’ll be sure to commit that fact to _my_ memory. Don’t worry, Mr. Smythe, this kind of thing won’t happen again.”

Coran certainly looked skeptical, but with two smiling sets of eyes practically begging him to let them off the hook, he just let a sigh pass through his lips. “Alright, boys, here’s what we’ll do,” he started, leaning his elbows on the desk and folding his hands. “I don’t care what happened in your past, but just as a general rule, unless both of you are acting, just don’t _touch_ each other, okay? I’d really like to avoid injury throughout the run of the show.”

Both boys nodded hurriedly in response, more than happy to comply with his demands.

“And, if you really want to rumble, do it in some alleyway off campus, alright?” His smile betrayed that he fully intended the reference to be made to West Side and that he also understood that their story was complete bullshit.

Lance started spewing thanks, rambling on about how it wasn’t going to happen again, so Keith grabbed his elbow and lead him out, quickly thanking Coran before ducking out of the office.

Before Lance could answer Plaxum’s questioning look, Keith had his fingers digging into the boy’s collarbone, eyes wide and lip curled. “‘Break a Leg’ game? Lance?! What the fuck?!”

“Aye, keep your voice down, dumbass,” Lance chastised, roughly shaking himself out of Keith’s hold with a glare. “It wasn’t like you were going to say anything! You should be thanking me for thinking of _something_.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering the amount of _bright ideas_ you’ve had in the past,” Keith growled back, garnering a slight gasp from Lance.

Tilting his head slightly to the side with a dark look on his face, he took a step toward Keith. “You really wanna talk about that shit _now_?”

“I think maybe we should take Coran’s advice and find some alley off campus before getting into that. Oh, but it can’t be too far, so you can still _bike_ to it, right?” Keith sneered, crossing his arms and cockily staring him down.

“You fucking bastard, aren’t even good enough to have a goddamn soulmate,” Lance snarled, curling his fingers into a fist and throwing it messily toward Keith.

His breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing, his blood rushing cold. Sure, he had gone pretty low, dredging up memories that really had no place in the theater lobby, but Lance had quickly crossed a line. He could feel himself shaking.

Even with the stiffness in his limbs, Keith caught Lance’s punch with a flat palm. Leaning closer to his face, he wrapped his fingers around Lance’s fist, squeezing a little too tight, emotion flaring in his eyes. “No touching, _remember_?”

Keith let a huff of a laugh fall off his lips as Plaxum placed a concerned hand on Lance’s shoulder, pulling him gently away from him. Grabbing his bag, he stalked out of the theater with a half-satisfied grin on his lips, memories of things he’s rather forget swirling about his mind.

~ ~ ~

Strangely enough, Lotor was leaning against the bottom of the stairs outside the theater, backpack by his feet as he scrolled through instagram on his phone. For a brief moment, Keith considered going the opposite direction to avoid him, but after the shitty conversation/confrontation he’d just had, he really just wanted to get home, creep lounging at the stairs or not.

But of course, just as he got to the bottom of the stairs: “Keith,” Lotor drawled, an easy smile on his lips. He took two steps into the sidewalk to be exactly in front of Keith, looming tall and imposing above him.

Somehow, as Keith was trying to take steps away from Lotor, he ended up with his spine pressed into the marble banister of the theater stairs. He instantly felt himself shrink against the banister behind him as Lotor leaned into him. “You looked good out there. Dancing, I mean.” His tone was hard to define, straddling the line somewhere between condescending and appreciative. Whatever his intentions, Keith’s body was taught and tense.

“Uh, thanks,” he replied, emotionless.

Lotor’s smile never faltered. “I mean it. You really might get the role.”

Okay, now that was weird. This creep was intimidating the shit out of him at the damn callback _posting_ and now after the actual audition he was trying to be nice? Something wasn’t quite lining up.

“Do you want to grab some late lunch? We could discuss the choreo over burgers or something,” he asked, his voice rather gentle.

“Is this like a group thing?” Keith asked in confusion, furrowing his brows. Why in the name of the ancients did _Lotor_ of all people want to go to lunch with him? Especially after explicitly stating he was a major threat, it was setting off all sorts of alarms in his head.

But then Lotor shook his head and slid impossibly closer to Keith, his cologne overwhelming him with the scent of sandalwood and lavender. “Nope. Just the two of us.”

No. There was no way _Lotor_ was _hitting_ on him. An ulterior motive definitely laid in the corners of his smile.

But . . . maybe talking with an experienced junior could offer insight Keith wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else. Whatever Lotor was hoping to get out of their lunch date, Keith would make sure it was worth _his_ while, too. But it was still a sketchy offer and damn did he want to go home.

“Uhh, well, I’m uh not quite . . .” Keith looked away, beginning to sweat under the heat from Lotor’s eyes, only inches away from his own.

In that moment, he watched as Lance walked by behind Lotor with his arm slung around Plaxum, a smile on his lips.

Impulsiveness gripped him and Keith let a grin slip onto his own lips as he declared, maybe a little too loudly, “Of course, I’d love to get lunch with you, Lotor.”

He suggested a restaurant and Keith said it was fine, all the while watching as Lance walked down the street, half of a smirk on his lips. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Keith fell in step next to Lotor letting himself be drawn in by the depth of his eyes and the lilt of his voice.

In all honesty, Keith couldn’t say he had a bad time. Sure, he could feel the awkward tension vibrating under their conversation as Lotor went on about his extensive resume and all the successes he’d had throughout his years as UA and beyond. Keith countered with his own record of triumphs but soon they dove into meaningless chatter, carefully avoiding any topics surrounding high school with Lance (but deleting Lance from his memories of high school was a common enough occurrence that he hardly had to think about anymore).

Then, all it took was one off-handed comment to spiral the whole conversation. If Keith had been expecting something to throw off their meal, it definitely wasn’t what really had happened.

With a laugh, Lotor finished off a story about an audition in freshman year, “It was the worst! Just as I got in the air for my big jump, something happened with my soulmate; my mark instantly started burning and I got so unnecessarily anxious I ended up messing up the landing and didn’t get the role I wanted.” He laughed easily, taking a sip of his drink.

Keith swallowed harshly and attempted to smile. “I don’t know the pain, if I’m being honest.” He could hear Lance’s words echoing in his mind, not even good enough to have a goddamn soulmate; the person he’d confided his worries in and the one who slung those words at him were universes apart.

“What to you mean?” Lotor asked, brows furrowed, head cocked to the side slightly.

“Oh, well,” Keith scratched the back of his neck and looked away for a moment before shrugging. “I do have a mark on the sole of my foot, but I, uh, I’ve never felt anything from them so I’m not sure if, well, if they’re alive or ever existed.” He attempted to keep his voice light.

Keith loathed to admit how much the lack of a soulmate affected him. It wasn’t like he was a naturally romantic person, but it would be comforting knowing there was someone out there who was meant to be his. All the fairytales ended with a happily ever after, but Keith’s lonely Leo constellation on his foot was an ugly reminder that he might never get that.

Suddenly, Keith jumped as Lotor’s warm hand gently rested atop his own across the table. “Everything will be alright, Keith. Don’t worry too much about it. We all know the statistics,” he said quietly, looking away.

The statistics that stated less than half the population actually ended up with the soulmate, for whatever reason. Finding a couple that were soulmates? Besides being destined for one another, it didn’t happen all that often. Keith didn’t like to dwell on the fact, preferring instead to pretend that someone out there was waiting, a scorpio birthmark burning into the sole of their foot.

“Everyone’s soulmate connection is a little different. Don’t give up hope.” His voice was kind, almost compassionate to Keith and his struggles. Amber eyes were soft as they implored Keith’s steely ones, and his smile was open and comforting.

It jarred Keith back to reality. Did he really tow this poor stranger along, let him buy him lunch, just because he wanted to show up Lance? Jesus, Keith needed to get his head on straight (metaphorically). Slowly, he drew his hand back and offered Lotor a small smile. “Thanks, I know.”

After both the conversation about soulmates and the silent refusal of letting anything go further, even a simple touch of the hand, the lunch ended quickly. They realized they were going different directions outside the restaurant, standing awkwardly on the street corner. “Well, uh, thanks! I had a, um, nice time,” Keith stuttered out with a smile he hoped Lotor couldn’t see through.

“Me too, Keith. Maybe we can do this again some other time. It was nice getting to know you and I look forward working with you in the show.”

Lotor was so damn eloquent Keith couldn’t help but feel his cheeks flush with the comparison to his own nearly-incoherent speech. “Yep, me too!” he squeaked out and began walking down the street, shaking his head and looking at his hands. He was such an idiot.

~ ~ ~

If he thought that callback postings was stressful, it was nothing compared to the anxiety bouncing in his veins as he worked up the courage to enter the theater lobby. As to be expected, there were already a large group of people huddled around the bulletin board, talking in a range of voices, loud and soft, excited and sad.

Trying his hardest to not blatantly elbow others in the face, Lance pushed himself to the front of the group, nervousness buzzing in his fingers.

His eyes scanned the list, his vision a little blurry with the threat of anxious tears. Of course, the first thing he saw was a jarring impact of emotions, noting that Keith had gotten Tony and Plaxum had gotten Maria.

First, he was undoubtedly happy for his girlfriend who’d gotten the role of her dreams. Second, he was undoubtedly irritated by Keith who’d gotten the role of his dreams. And thirdly, he was a little put-off that Keith would be acting alongside his girlfriend.

It was a sort of emotional juxtaposition that made his heart flutter.

And then everything stopped.

_LANCE MCCLAIN . . . RIFF_

He couldn’t stop staring at his name. He even checked the title of the paper to make sure that this was truly the cast list and not understudies or something else. This was real. He was cast as Riff.

In his first-ever college musical he was a part of the main cast! He got shoved out of the way for someone else trying to get a look at the list and he didn’t even care. There weren’t many things that could wipe the smile off his face.

~ ~ ~

Keith was standing in the lobby of the theater fifteen minutes before the lists were going to be put up. They had all received the announcement the night before that the cast list was going up and he didn’t sleep at all. Sure, he’d tried to close his eyes around five in the morning, but by then, he didn’t even think it would be necessary to go to sleep. So he’d stayed up finishing an essay and watching pointless youtube videos until his 9 am class, which he didn’t pay attention to at all.

And now, he was alone in the theater lobby, tapping his foot impatiently. After a few minutes, a couple people had joined him in the lobby, the air tense and suffocating. By the time the office door creaked open and Coran slid out with a bright smile on his face, there were a few handfuls of people waiting for the list to be put up.

Of course, Keith was breathing down Coran’s neck as he stapled the two pieces of paper to the bulletin board. The director slipped out of the way before the anxiously eager students huddled around the list.

And soon enough, Keith was slinking out of the way, suppressing a smile as joy enveloped him, body and soul.

His name had been printed right at the top of the list, stark and bold and amazing:

_KEITH KOGANE . . . TONY_

If he thought getting a callback was something that set his soul on fire, playing the lead role in his first college musical as a freshman was blowing his fucking mind. While he had, in some frame of mind, thought it was likely that he was going to get the role, seeing his name, having it be official was something else entirely.

He was Tony!

Looking around, he noticed that groups of people were forming, spreading out across the theater lobby, talking in everything from hushed, apologetic tones to yelled, excited voices. Fishing out his phone, he dialed a number and pushed out of the theater, hopping down the steps to lean against the banister at the bottom (which should have reminded him of Lotor, but he was blinded by his happiness).

A groggy voice answered on the other side of the phone with more of a disgruntled noise than words.

“Shiro! I’m Tony!” he yelled, smile wide on his lips as he bounced on the balls of feet, unable to contain himself.

Shio chuckled in a good-natured way, complimenting him, “That’s fantastic, Keith! I’m so happy for you!”

Distantly, Keith could hear a tired voice speak out, “Hi, Tony.” Keith giggled at that, like actually _giggled_. But he was too damn happy to even care.

Shiro chastised Matt, his “roommate” (or so he insisted upon calling him) for making the dumb comment before Keith could hear his brother get out of the bed and move somewhere else to continue the conversation. “You’re first college musical and you’re the lead! I always knew you could do it,” he told him; Keith could hear his smile in his voice.

“I couldn’t have done it without you!” Keith replied, letting his head fall back to admire the blue sky above him, take in a deep breath of the crisp afternoon air.

Shiro made a small noise of disagreement and was probably going to say something about Keith’s abilities to succeed and motivation, but he cut him off with sincerity, “No, really, Shiro! I know mom and dad paid for the all the lessons but you drove me to them and encouraged me to keep going and came to all of my performances even when mom and dad couldn’t. You never gave up on me! So, uh, thanks, Shiro!”

It was silent on the other end of the phone for a minute.

“I’m always here for you, kiddo.” He almost sounded choked up. But, Keith didn’t often show his true feelings to anyone, and even when he did, he never came right out and said exactly what he meant. Until, he guessed, today. “I’m-I’m so impressed. I can’t wait to see you in November!”

They dissolved into pointless chatter at that point, Keith snarkily bringing up Matt and listening to Shiro get flustered and whisper-yell about the sorts of the things that younger brother’s don’t need to know about their older brothers.

Keith had a class at 12:45, so he called Shiro mainly to tell him the good news, but to also waste some time before his class started. But when he noticed Lotor plodding down the steps of the theater, he instantly regretted deciding to stay at the bottom of the stairs.

His blood ran cold as Lotor’s amber eyes pierced into his, catching hold for a heated second before he shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked down the street without a word.

Keith really couldn’t figure Lotor out for the life of him. While he understood being disappointed about his role (as Bernardo), he outright told Keith that he had major potential of getting the role. There was no way that Lotor wouldn’t have prepared himself to not get the lead role.

Shaking his head, he simply started walking to his class and kept the conversation going with Shiro on the phone, trying his best to rid his mind of thoughts of Lotor.

~ ~ ~

After a few short texts, Lance was waiting outside a cafe not far from the theater with an unsupressable grin on his face. A squeal cut through the air and suddenly Plaxum was wrapped up in Lance’s arms and they were both laughing.

“I’m so excited! I can’t believe I’m Maria!” she yelped as Lance buried his face into her neck and twirled her around, bubbles of laughter surrounding them, light enveloping them in a moment of pure, outlandishly amazing joy.

He set her down, biting his lip through a smile, staring deep into her gorgeous eyes. “I may not be your Tony, but, hey, I’ll take Riff any day.” Sticking out his tongue slightly with a quick wink, he gently wrapped his arms around her waist as she clasped her hands behind his neck.

Looking down, Lance felt a blush coat his cheeks before he locked with her eyes once again. “And, I may not be your love interest in the show, but I was wondering if, uh, maybe you wanted to be my girlfriend?”

The smile that spread across Plaxum’s face was so stunningly beautiful Lance couldn’t help but press his lips against hers delightfully. Spending the afternoon with such happiness sitting in their chests, holding hands, sneaking in kisses, Lance couldn’t have imagined having a better day.

That was, of course, until he kissed Plaxum good night and started his walk home that crushing realities came down on him. While he had the thing that mattered to his emotions, his entire body was yelling at him to have the part of Tony. The part that Keith got.

In the dark of the setting sun and cold feeling seeping into his feet through the cracks in the sidewalk, he couldn’t shake off the building anger. The festering irritation that his girlfriend would be the one playing the part of Tony’s, of Keith’s maddeningly love.

It made his blood boil that Keith would be tripping down the stage, singing gooey songs filled with love and romance and the chance at finding your soulmate at such a young age, so perfect and undeniable. It would be _Keith_ singing the lines to Plaxum, _his_ girlfriend. They would hold hands and dance and kiss each other while Lance got fucking stabbed.

He overlooked the part where Keith gets shot, but that’s beside the point of the matter.

It wasn’t fair. That’s what it came down to. It wasn’t fair that Keith would be the one pretending to fall in love with Plaxum while _Lance_ was the one falling in love with her (albeit slower than Tony and Maria, but whatever).

Stomping into his building, he slammed his finger into the elevator button, angrily jabbing floor 18 and waiting extremely impatiently, tapping his toe and rolling his eyes past every other floor.

As he stalked into his room, Hunk instantly frowned and took off his headphones. “Ugh, buddy, that’s some terrible aura you’re bringing in here. Everything okay?”

Even though he knew he shouldn’t take it out on Hunk, Lance just ended up rolling his eyes as he slipped off his shoes and threw himself into bed. “Stop quoting Shay, jesus, you know I don’t give a flying shit about my aura, _buddy_.”

“Ooo, wow, okay. Message received,” Hunk replied closing his laptop and lying his orange headphones on top gently, giving Lance a wary look. “What happened?”

Lance sighed, his face pressed into his pillow. “I asked Plaxum to be my girlfriend.”

Immediately softening, Hunk rolled out of his bed and opened his arms to Lance, ready to listen to Lance’s emotional story.

Not willing to pass up one of hunk’s legendary hugs, Lance pushed himself upright and folded himself into his embrace before continuing on, his lips muffled by Hunk’s t-shirt. “She said yes, that’s not the issue, the issue--”

But Lance was cut off by Hunk instantly ripped himself away from Lance, eyebrows stitched incredulously. “What am I hugging you for, then, huh? My hugs aren’t free, you know!”

“Oh shush, yes they are,” Lance retorted with a laugh, throwing himself back at his best friend, already in a better mood simply from being in Hunk’s presence. “I was really happy--don’t get me wrong--like _really_ happy to get Riff, but I mean couldn’t _anyone else_ have gotten Tony? Like literally anyone?”

Somehow, Lance could feel Hunk roll his eyes at him while he slapped his hand on his back a few times. “Okay, so you’re jealous.”

“J-jealous?! That’s _not_ that right word!” he shot back, catapulting himself from Hunk’s embrace. “I’m the one with the real girlfriend! Why would I be jealous of her? I-I mean _him_!”

“Uh-huh, sure, sure.” Hunk shoved Lance’s legs out of the way before plopping himself next to him. “I wasn’t even talking about your relationship with Plaxum, dummy. You’re jealous that he’s got the lead role. That’s okay. I know you sorta got over it before callbacks, knowing you were trying for Riff, instead, but it still hurts, man, and that’s okay.”

Lance opened his mouth to protest, but found that he couldn’t really come up with a real reason to put up a fight. “I-I guess you’re right. I’m still gonna be mad, though.”

Letting out a laugh, Hunk let a bright, half-smile cross his lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”


	6. Facades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, after the role postings, the animosity between Keith and Lance is stirred up. But, at the first rehearsal for West Side, the two have to put their differences aside and be able to trust each other as fellow actors and best friends in the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting some more hints about our boys' trouble pasts !  
> I'm finally starting to get into a rhythm of posting and might be able to give y'all a chapter estimate soon :)  
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this longer chapter <3

The moment Lance walked into improv class, Keith could feel the hair on the back of his neck bristle. The animosity was heavy in the air as Lance's gleaming blue eyes latched onto Keith's steely ones. Pausing slightly in the doorway, Keith watched as Lance rolled his shoulders back and took several measured steps forward.

“Fuck you, Kogane,” he ground out, eyes narrowed and hooded, words slicing through the tense air.

Keith let a haughty laugh pass through his devilish smile. He couldn’t help but revel in the sweetness of his victory and the bitterness evident on Lance’s face. “Is our little loverboy angry he got cast as the sidekick again?” 

“Well, your gay ass is going to have a hell of a time swooning over _my_ girlfriend,” Lance growled out, nostrils flaring, taking a few more steps toward Keith.

Keith choked. 

Even for the douche he knew Lance was, that was a damn low blow. He ground his teeth and rolled his shoulders back, trying his best to keep his temper under control. “I can act well no matter my sexual orientation.” He flicked his eyebrows up and sneered, “Unlike you, Lance.”

“You know for a fact I'm a _very_ good actor, isn't that right, Keith?” His voice was low and intimidating, drawing on memories Keith would have preferred to keep in the back edges of his mind.

Taking a breath and furrowing his brows in anger, he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut quickly. “If you're such a good actor, why did _I_ get the lead role, huh?” Keith shot back, shoving away the events of last year, trying to keep his mind from being clouded by emotions long past.

“Just a reminder, buddy, you die in the end!” Lance spit out, arms wide in a flailing motion.

“And you die in the middle!”

Obviously, it was at the moment when the teacher walked through the door. Keith just thanked the ancients that it was someone like Ezor, rather than his dance teacher (he was certifiably scary), that had walked into the scene.

“Woah, both of you, calm down!” Ezor yelled as she stood between the boys, clutching her bag tightly, knuckles white. “If you boys want to fight, do it outside school grounds, okay? I don’t need this in my classroom,” she growled, glaring between the boys.

Keith worked on calming down his breath, his lip caught between his teeth, avoiding Lance’s gaze. Before he could sit back down, Ezor was clapping her hands and announcing, “I guess since you two are up already, you'll go first in the activity today!” Masking her ire with a sunny tone, Ezor explained the game while Keith crossed his arms and Lance let out a huff.

The scene was set with a park bench (a very creative two chairs pushed together in the center of the circle) and one person already sitting on the bench. The game was that a second person would come up to the first person and attempt to get them off the bench. It was supposed to test one’s skills to improvise an awkward enough social setting that would force someone to want to leave. 

Keith plopped himself down on the “park bench” and re-crossed his arms with a sigh. “Now remember Keith, you're just a regular person, so get up when you think you would in a normal social setting!” Ezor's voice had regained her usual spark, her long braid swinging over her shoulder as she sat atop a desk and gestured for Lance to start.

Taking a deep breath, Keith tried to reset himself, forget about the anger in the conversation immediately preceding the dumb game. The fucking fact that Lance thought he had the right to be irritated about his role and take it out on Keith was only making him angrier. He’d performed better and that was that, no need for the jackass to curse him out.

Keith was jolted out of his thoughts as Lance slid into the chair next to him. “Hey man,” Lance cooed, his voice dropping to what someone might consider a sexy, low vibrado. Not even attempting to be modest, he spread his legs, pressing his knee against Keith’s as he looked at him from under his eyelashes.

And Keith immediately got up. No fanfare, no reaction, nothing belying his emotional state, nothing illustrating why on earth he suddenly exited the game. Lance had his mouth open to spit out a pick-up line and it was like he was left at the altar, disgust and agitation evident on his features.

“Keith! You have to actually act like a normal person!” Ezor scolded, her brows furrowed in a mixture of irritation and confusion.

He let out a snort of a laugh. “Any sane person would run if they saw Lance's face.”

The satisfaction that filled his blood warmed him guiltily as his smile grew. Lance looked like an idiot, bolting out of his seat and tensing all his muscles, curling his fingers into fists as if he was really thinking about punching Keith in the middle of class.

Ezor ended up rolling her eyes and picking someone else to continue the activity while Keith slipped into a seat, unable to wipe the smug, accomplished look off his face.

~ ~ ~

There was an informational meeting to go over roles and hand out scripts a week and half before the first rehearsal. A little early, Keith was sitting in the third row of the theater, Coran and Allura and a few other people he didn’t recognize huddled on the stage as other students trickled in. 

He noticed when Lotor walked into the theater. How could he not? His purple blazer was switched out for a leather jacket and a purple button down, keeping along the same color themes that even Keith would expect of him at this point. But what was unexpected was when he offered a wide smile, oozing something that Keith couldn’t quite identify but definitely didn’t like, and sat down right next to Keith.

“Hi, Keith. How are you?”

He . . . didn’t sound mad. Which was surprising, to say the least. Up to this point, Keith had only had three interactions with Lotor and each were _dramatically_ different. From an awkward and slightly scary first encounter at callback postings to last week’s lunch “date” actually going pretty well to Lotor walking out of the theater without a second glance to Keith after role postings.

And now this. “I’m, uh, good. Excited to get working!” he replied with a nervous smile, turning slightly to look at him better and feeling the spark when their knees collided.

“Me too. Ready to stab me, huh?” he asked with a light laugh and a bright smile. Yet there was still that underlying feeling of discomfort. He really couldn’t figure this guy out.

Lotor seemed to always be playing a part, making sure his puzzle piece fit in smoothly, no matter what sort of facade he had to put up. From an outsider’s perspective, it seemed exhausting. The issue laid in the fact that Keith wasn’t quite sure if he was yearning to figure out what was behind all that drama, or if he was content to leave it alone.

It seemed Keith was going to have to ponder that idea later as the adults on stage turned and addressed the crowd. “Hello all! We’re going to introduce ourselves once again now that everyone here is officially in the show! I am Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, your director!” the man with the orange hair and large mustache yelled across the theater, his voice perfect for a full audience. Meaning his voice was booming across the seven or eight rows of students.

The pretty silver-haired girl who sat in for auditions and callbacks smiled and waved. “Hi, I'm Allura and I'm the costume manager.”

Standing next to Allura, imposing and rippling with muscles, was a woman with a face set in stone. “I'm Zethrid, the set designer and stage manager.” Her voice was low and gravelly and sort of scary; Keith was glad he wasn’t in set crew.

Keith let a chill roll down his spine as Krolia, the dance choreographer introduced herself again with a stern look and a flick of her rat’s tail over her shoulder, the purple and pink beads stark against her plain black shirt.

“Call me Kolivan. I overview lights and sound. It's a pleasure to be working with you all.” The final man was tall and spindly and spoke with a calm and even disposition. It was certainly a diverse cast of characters.

After some basic information about meeting dates and times and other stuff Keith probably should have been paying attention to but wasn't, they were split up into their separate groups. Cast was ushered on stage by Coran and Krolia while Allura, Zethrid, and Kolivan took their students out of the main theater to investigate their new part-time homes.

“Welcome! It is most wonderful to be standing in front of the full cast of the winter production of West Side Story!” And everyone clapped, ooh, woo hoo, he welcomed us, yippee. Keith always thought people applauded too much at the mundane. When someone walked onto stage to give a speech, people always clapped, but they haven't even done anything. At the end, okay, but at the beginning? It didn't make sense to him.

Clapping aside, Coran handed out the scripts and asked everyone to have the majority of their lines memorized by the first rehearsal. Keith could feel his blood run cold. That was college-level acting, he assumed, giving the cast a full _nine_ days to memorize an almost 3-hour long musical.

After that announcement, it soon became clear to Keith that this was not a simple meeting to go over basic information for the season. Coran asked them to separate themselves into their groups (Jets, Sharks, “Others”). He kept talking as the Jets crowded around Keith on the left side of the stage, but he wasn’t listening to Coran as his eyes landed on Lance.

He was Riff, Tony’s best friend. Out of all the people in the musical, he spent the most time with Maria and Riff, so of course it would have to be his proclaimed enemy and his girlfriend. He really would have prefered anyone, even Lotor, to have been Riff.

Riff fucking _dies_ in Tony’s arms. And then Tony _avenges_ his death! Keith was going to have to rely heavily on his acting skills to distance himself from the hatred that pulsed in his veins everytime he thought about Lance.

Keith's skin crawled just thinking about the way everything started. 

It itched. The feeling of people watching him itched. After years of being on stage, of adoring the attention of thousands of eyes watching him, it was one of the worst feelings in the world. Itching as people dragged their eyes up and down his body. Itching as people dove into whispered conversations after having recognized him. Itching as rumors began to spread like the plague.

And patient zero was none other than Lance McClain.

But the people he was standing with didn’t make him itch, didn’t look at him with wariness in their eye, with rumors on their tongue. He was fresh and new and never preceded by the whisper of “oh my god, did you hear . . .?” or “holy shit, that’s _the_ guy,” or “ew, yeah, stay away from him.”

But he could have gotten over the itching. He could have been fine with the whispers, the harsh eyes, the cruel sneers if it hadn’t been for _her_. The way her eyes had pierced his skin, her words spitting acid, “All the shit people say about you is true. You really are a fucking freak.”

But that had happened a long time ago. A time that he shouldn’t dwell in. What mattered was his feet on the dusty floorboards of the stage, the brighter-than-necessary lights shining down on him, the feeling of his fingertips pressing against each other.

Taking a deep breath, Keith centered himself on the present and tuned back in to what Coran was spouting.

“—so you can try and learn the ins and outs of your team! Now, everybody, hop to it!” 

He bit his lip. Because he’d allowed his mind to wander--to relive the goddamn past that he tried so hard to forget--he had no idea what in the name of the ancients was going on.

“So, uh,” he was the first to speak. “What _exactly_ are we doing?”

Lance could have murdered someone with the glare he sent Keith, obviously irritated. “Of course Keith wouldn't have been listening,” Lance muttered, slipping his thumb through his belt loop and leaning back on his heels.

Keith raised an eyebrow and took a step closer to him. “What was that, Lance?” he asked maliciously, anger and hatred obvious in his tone. But as soon as he attempted to take another step forward, an arm was pressing deep into his chest.

“Woah, woah, calm down, Tony,” the unknown guy scolded with a patient eye. It sort of peeved Keith that this guy (looking to probably be a junior) knew who he was, obviously, but that he knew nothing about him. For the sake of the group, Keith bit his tongue and looked away, taking a few steps back to his spot in the circle.

Rolling his eyes, the older guy muttered a half-hearted, “We’re off to a great start.” Keith bristled, not helping the tense atmosphere at all, but soon the guy was explaining what was going on, so he didn’t have a lot to complain about. “Coran said we have to build trust in one another, so should we go around and say names?”

Everyone nodded, accepting the older student as their temporary leader. Selfishly, Keith hoped that it would truly be temporary and they would base their leaders on acting ability rather than seniority.

“I’m Ulaz,” the guy explained with a warm yet somehow uninviting smile. “I’m a junior and I’m playing Diesel.”

And so they went around the circle in much of the same fashion, but the only name that Keith could remember by the end (even though there were only twelve of them) was Shay, the only girl, playing Anybodys, so it wasn’t too difficult to commit to memory.

After names, the activity was trust falls, obviously, because was there really anything else that build up some Good Familial Bonds ™ like blindly letting your guard down and putting yourself in slight danger? 

If it weren’t for the sake of becoming a better actor, Keith would have walked right out of the theater.

It wasn’t a hard decision when Ulaz asked who should go first, as all eyes flew to Keith and Lance. After their little display of hatred, there were obvious ties that would keep the two from performing their best together.

Taking a deep breath, Keith knew that he had to push all his unprofessional, childish _feelings_ away and act his damn heart out. Even if it meant producing the most realistic smile in the universe for Lance McClain.

The two were pushed to the center of the circle a little roughly, if Keith was being honest. Regardless, the moment he felt everyone’s eyes on them, he popped a grin on his face and grabbed Lance’s hands quickly, holding them between their faces. He looked yearningly into Lance’s eyes as if to ascertain that he knew what truly was going on under the bright smile.

“Womb to tomb?” Keith prompted.

And without fail, “Birth to Earth, buddy.” Lance’s grin was cheesy and plastic, but it got the job done, nonetheless. Maybe, if they pretended hard enough, they really would learn to stop hating each other.

Under his breath, Lance mumbled, “I swear to god, mullet, if you drop me I’ll--”

“Just shut up and trust me,” Keith growled back, cutting off Lance completely, taking him roughly by the shoulders and turning him around. Three steps back and he held his arms out to catch Lance, if he ever really did put his faith in him and fall backwards.

Suddenly, his frame was heavy against Keith’s own as Lance’s shoulder dug into his chest. He wrapped his arms lightly around Lance, feeling his hands resting on top of Lance’s arms folded across his chest. Without his consent, his mind was reeling with pride that Lance had really trusted him enough to think he would catch him. It was dumb, he thought, that was the whole purpose of the activity, but still.

The moment didn’t last long.

Harshly, Lance pushed himself away from Keith just as Ulaz demanded for them to switch roles.

Ignoring the bubble of disbelief that Lance would really catch him, he looked behind his shoulder to make sure the boy really was standing there, crossing his arms and steeling himself for the fall. Before he could overthink it too much, he allowed himself to fall off balance.

Right as he was considering taking a stagger step backwards to catch himself mid-fall, Lance’s arms were there, gripping his biceps firmly as his own shoulder blades were pressed into his chest. Feeling chills erupt all over him, Keith stood quickly, sliding his hands into his pockets and taking several steps away from Lance.

“Good job, guys,” Ulaz congratulated just as yells erupted from the Sharks. Keith looked over and saw Lotor on the ground, red in the face, hand clutching his elbow as Plaxum was sprawled out behind him, laughing her ass off.

Without a second thought, Lance ran right over, concerned boyfriend grasping onto Plaxum’s hands and pulling her to her feet. Keith rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, I know no one actually wins in the end, but I think we can say we’re the better gang, huh?” someone said with a laugh, drawing chuckles from the rest of the group.

Lance pecked Plaxum quick on the mouth and flicked what he thought were intimidating eyebrows at Lotor before re-joining the circle. As a couple of people started to fall with each other, someone Keith didn’t remember the name of sidled up to him and motioned to the Sharks and Lance in tandem. “Isn’t that supposed to be you, Tony?”

Keith narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, leaning into one hip and not deeming the remark with anything more than a look.

“Ya know, ditching the gang, kissing Maria, scoffing Bernardo?” His smile was wide and weasel-like, a glint in his eyes that suggested something more than the musical. “She’s hot, right?”

Keith grimaced. “I prefer not to engage in relationships during the run of the show. They tend to end badly.” Speaking from experience, he wanted to add. But as he turned back to the guy, he was gone, probably off to find someone who shared his views on objectifying women.

And he tried not to hear her words in his head, but they were there, pulsating inside his skull.

_”You really are a fucking freak.”_

It hurt to think of the way she was hesitant to hold his hands while they performed what once was a seamless dance at the end of their high school show. It hurt to think of the way she had shied away from their conversations. It hurt to think of the way she had avoided him, the way she had pushed him out, the way she had been so hurt by something that he had no control over. And yet he was the one being punished for it.

So he had retaliated. 

Exhilaration and excitement had bit into his hands, paralleling the blistering of the baseball bat. Strength and power radiated from the pinch of the key pressing deep in his hand and even deeper in the metal. Wickedness and justice had overwhelmed him when he flicked open the pocket knife, feeling the handle pressing deliciously into his palm.

Yet, when he had turned around with a smirk lying on his lips, Lance’s eyes pierced through his skin. The look of horror, the way his eyes widened with unforgettable shock and sickening surprise, took Keith’s heart and twisted it. Keith had every reason to be angry, furious with everything that Lance had caused. But watching those eyes fill with tears and agony submerged Keith with devastation and defeat.

The only thing he could think to try and get the guilt out of his blood was to shove that familiar feeling of rage back into its place. He ached for the feeling of impulsiveness that he’d thrived on when he made the biggest mistake of his life.

But his blood stayed sluggish in his veins, the self-pity contained in sadness instead of anger. He drew back into himself, clamming up, closing out everything that was around him and focusing solely on surviving. He thought if he only could live through the last few months of high school, he’d be okay.

He thought it would be better in college. A fresh start. A new beginning for him to blossom like a flower in the springtime. But now he was stuck in his memories, reliving those crucial moments again and again, Lance's blue eyes caught in his own.

No. 

He wasn't staring at Lance. His eyes were trained on the spaces between the dusty floorboards beneath his feet. There was nothing tying him to then, to that time he always strived to forget. 

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his eyes to watch as Shay fell into Ulaz’s awaiting arms. 

Trust falls. Trust falls at his first official play rehearsal. Play rehearsal for West Side Story. West Side Story where he was the lead, Tony.

He was doing trust falls at his first official play rehearsal for West Side Story where he was the lead, Tony, and everything was fine. Lance was making heart eyes at his girlfriend across the stage and _not_ obsessing over the pain of the past. So why was he?

Running his hands down his face, he tried his best to shake off his memories and focus on the present, on what was important.

After everyone was done trusting and falling, Coran called them back to center, asking them to grab their scripts for a read through. Nerves instantly started thrumming with anticipation, electricity palpable in the air. It was informal, but it was also the cast’s first impression of one another.

They stood around for a moment before Coran flopped to the ground, folding his legs under himself and thumbing through the script. The stage was covered in a fine layer of dust and probably thousands of germs, but there wasn’t anything anyone could do.

While Keith understood Lotor’s thought to sit next to him as a fellow gang leader, it still made his skin prickle, the atmosphere between them uncomfortable. Lotor was sitting on the stage with his legs criss-crossed and was leaning so that he was as close to Keith as humanly possible without sitting in his lap. He would have leaned the other way, but sitting on his other side was Lance, and he’d take Lotor over him any day.

The read through started, and Keith tried his best to let the real world fall away, let the awkwardness of his date-type-thing with Lotor crumble to the ground and the hatred pulsing between him and Lance flatline.

The play started with some teasing and taunting by the Jets, awkward and short jeers cut through the air around the circle. Lotor next to him started up with a cheeky line of, “Jet boy, hey, jet boy!” And although it was projected to the entire group, Keith felt the hairs on his neck prickle.

Slapping a smile on his face, he turned slightly to face Lance, sing-songing his first line to him while pushing down the urge to curl his lip into a snarl. Their scene continued and as much as Keith hated to admit it, Lance was doing a pretty good job, his voice was bright and charismatic as he ordered his gang around and playfully messed around with Tony.

Keith actually met Lance’s eyes as he said what was beginning to seem like their mantra, “Womb to tomb?”

“Birth to earth,” Lance replied, eyes sparkling.

Keith thought he might actually be able to survive the season if Lance was willing to work with him. But, there was no telling what that dumbass would do next, so Keith wasn't going to hold his breath.

When they got to the scene, Keith leaned forward and turned to Plaxum; Lotor was kind enough to scootch back slightly so they could connect more throughout the scene. He couldn't help but suppress a giggle as the poor girl attempted to speak Spanish, however small the line, it just sounded _wrong_ coming out of her mouth. But of course, he just took a deep breath and continued with his line, utterly serious, head-over-heels in love.

Keith had to note that the relationship between Plaxum and Luxia, playing Maria and Anita, respectively, was something to marvel at. The two girls were best friends in and out of the play, whereas him and Lance? Complete opposite. But he would just have to demonstrate his acting ability and make everyone believe there was nothing but love between him and Lance. It was going to take a lot of acting. A lot.

But, they continued with the read-through and Keith allowed thoughts of trying to make things work with Lance to fall away.

When Keith died, he dramatically ricocheted back from Sendak's finger gun, playing a very convincing Chino. One hand still pressed to his chest, Keith glanced over to Plaxum as she gripped her script tightly, screaming out her lines filled with anguish and raw emotion. It had been a while since Keith had known someone with such stark acting ability as Plaxum. She was going to be fun to work with, that was for sure.

As soon as the read-through was over, Coran clapped several punctuated times, a wide grin on his face. “Welcome to West Side Story, everybody.”

~ ~ ~

Hunk, as per usual, was bursting into their dorm room, freshly showered, and yelling at Lance that he had exactly _five minutes_ before they had to leave. Scratching a hand through his hair, Lance yawned and stiffly rolled out of bed. It probably would have taken a lot more convincing from Hunk to get him up if he hadn’t already been excited about his first rehearsal for West Side.

Throwing on a blue baseball tee and his jacket over a pair of jeans, making sure to check his hair in the mirror, Lance and Hunk were out the door exactly on schedule.

“Would you ever get up if I weren’t there?” Hunk asked with a sigh, leaning against the side of the elevator with a raised eyebrow.

Lance scoffed. “Don’t worry, _mom_ , I get up by myself all the time. But when I know you’re going to make sure we leave on time, why should I pay attention to it at all?” His tone was flippant as he strolled out of the elevator, ignoring Hunk’s eye roll. 

Checking his horoscope and scorpio’s as he does every morning, Lance was assured that both he and his soulmate would have good days as long as Lance paid attentions to others’ feelings and his soulmate watched their temper. Hunk just shook his head and chuckled, far too used to his incessant need to check his horoscope because of a couple of stars dotted on the bottom of his foot.

They met Pidge, who was barely containing a yawn as she fixed her glasses on her face. “Nine is way too early for a damn meeting,” she growled, although her usual intensity was lost in her tiredness, dragging her feet alongside the two boys down the street.

“Hey, it may be early, but it’s our first official West Side meeting!” Lance attempted to hype his friends up, but after knowing him since elementary school (for Hunk) and middle school (for Pidge), they were used to his crazy moods and learned to block his enthusiasm out.

All Lance got was a bored, “Yippee,” from Pidge and a half-smile from Hunk. But not even his mopey, tired friends could bring down his mood. They were maybe only getting a tour of the costume room and the tech supplies, but Lance as getting his script! Today was the day that it all became real.

They met Plaxum at the cafe and Lance pressed a quite kiss to her lips before either Hunk or Pidge could call them out on PDA.

“It’s our first official play rehearsal! How exciting, right?” Plax squealed, squeezing Lance’s hand as they walked down the street toward the theater.

Pidge’s eyes widened as she placed a hand on Hunk’s arm and breathed, “Oh my god, they were made for each other! What the hell.”

“I was just about to say the same thing!” Hunk half-whispered, blinking rapidly, overdramatizing his shock at seeing the couple so in sync with each other.

Lance pursed his lips and flicked his eyebrows up at them from over his shoulder, not even dignifying the comments with a response. But soon enough, the four of them were pushing into the theater and Lance may have been reading into things too deeply, but Pidge and Hunk certainly seemed pretty excited.

Piling into the second row of seats in the audience, they kept their chatter quiet, the group of adults on the stage keeping the atmosphere tense. 

Lance tried his hardest not to notice Keith sitting next to Lotor in the row behind them. He also tried his hardest not to think about the fact that Keith and Lotor went on a lunch date after callbacks. Not that he was probably supposed to know that, because he’d only overheard it on the sidewalk leaving the theater, but it was puzzling.

While Lance knew Keith was gay because of . . . well, it didn’t matter, but he was under the impression that Keith was still in the closet. Sexuality was always a difficult topic since soulmates disrupt the balance of sexual attraction, but knowing that less than half of the population actually ends up with their soulmate, it makes some things awkward.

Regardless, Lance knew Keith’s agenda well enough to know that he would never enter a relationship during a run of a production. Seeing how they had both had a hand in each other’s relationships within the cast of their senior year musical, Lance would know better than most that Keith would never risk something like that again.

So, it weighed heavily in the back of his mind, wondering what on earth was happening between him and Lotor. Not that he cared. Obviously. It was simply an interesting topic of study.

Before he could convince himself that it really _didn’t_ matter to him whether or not Keith was openly gay and/or was dating Lotor, the director and coordinators were introducing themselves and splitting the students into their respective groups and respective locations.

Immediately after Coran gave them their extremely simple instructions, Keith turned into the circle of Jets and had the gall to ask what they’re doing.

Rolling his eyes, Lance muttered under his breath, “Of course wouldn’t have been listening.” It was snarky, he had to admit, and not exactly necessary, but the way every little thing about Keith grated on his nerves made him rash.

“What was that, Lance?” Keith replied, narrowing his eyes and stepping closer to Lance, almost as if he was looking for a fight.

Someone Lance vaguely recognized from callbacks shot out his arm to keep Keith from advancing any closer to him. He didn’t want to say he was _relieved_ that someone intervened, because he definitely could have handled the situation, but he really didn’t want to get in trouble again.

He guessed it shouldn’t have been a surprise that when they got to trust falls, all eyes landed on Keith and Lance. It wasn’t exactly easy to hide the fact that they despised each other after all the shit they did to try and fuck each other up just last year. Not to mention the rather public show of affection at callbacks that Coran had to step in between.

Unexpectedly, when they were shoved into the center of the circle, Keith forcefully grabbed both of his hands and drew them close. His gunmetal grey eyes held a sort of emotion that Lance somehow understood, deeply contrasting the small smile resting on his lips.

Looking into his eyes, all he could think about was that day, not all that long ago, and yet a million years in the past. He remembered waiting there, an uncontrollable grin on his face, thinking about how all his goddamn _work_ was going to pay off. He had spent hours, agonizing over each little detail, each message, craving the wickedness he could feel in his fingertips like some kind of drug. 

And he knew it wasn’t going to work. He knew, one day, everything would fall apart. 

Then, he looked up from where he was waiting to meet those gunmetal grey eyes. His devilish smile was perched on his lips and he remembered opening his mouth to say something. But then his grin faded away just as quickly as tears filled Keith’s eyes. He watched as this boy broke, crumbing into too many pieces to patch back together.

It was all Lance’s fault.

Those eyes, the look of horror, the pain that laid behind the grey irises, they haunted him now. And even worse, if that was possible, was the way the tears had slid down his cheeks as his voice cracked, “W-Why?”

It rung in his ears more often than Lance cared to admit. 

But right now, in this moment, Keith wasn’t crying. Keith wasn’t broken. And it wasn’t Lance’s fault. Keith was holding his hands and imploring him to act alongside him. So Lance slapped a smile onto his face and shoved his memories away, focusing on the space between Keith’s eyebrows instead.

Keith squeezed his hands and prompted, perfectly in character, “Womb to tomb?”

“Birth to earth, buddy,” Lance replied without a second to think. And as much as they were both dreading it, the trust falls went without a hitch, hopefully proving to the rest of the Jets that whatever bad blood was between them would not compromise their acting abilities.

Suddenly, screams exploded from the other side of the stage, drawing everyone’s attention. Lance curled his fingers into his fists as he saw Plaxum sprawled out on the ground behind Lotor. It looked like she was laughing while Lotor was complaining and holding his elbow, cheeks flushed. 

Lance didn’t really think before he was running over, kneeling on the ground beside Plaxum, worry evident in his eyes. “Plax, you okay?” he asked a little breathlessly, grabbing her hands as she sat up, still shaking from laughter.

Lotor scrambled to his feet with a huff, stamping the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. “Plaxum! You said you would catch me! This whole thing is about building trust!” And god, he whined like a child too.

Helping her up, Lance had to suppress his laughter as she painted on the most concerned face he’d ever seen. Plaxum immediately dove into the most beautifully-acted scene, telling him,“I’m sorry, Lotor! I really did think I’d be able to catch you. I guess I’m not as strong as I thought I was . . .”

Lance knew that she was definitely strong enough to catch him, which made the exchange all that much more amusing. She shrugged and laughed a little bit before turning back to Lance. “Thanks for coming over here and helping me, Lance!” she said with a bright smile.

With a grin of his own, he gave her a short kiss. He caught Lotor’s gaze and flicked his eyebrows up at him, hoping that he understood not to fuck around with Plaxum, even if she was technically the one who dropped him. And then, of course, there was the matter of him going out with Keith so did that mean that Lotor was gay or bi or . . . ?

Well, it was none of his business. He tried to shake off his intrusive thoughts as he made his way back to his circle of Jets.

Immediately, his mind was brought to a different subject as Shay (playing Anybodys) bumped against his shoulder slightly with a small smile. “Is she your girlfriend?” she asked in a quiet voice, brown eyes wide and innocent.

“Plaxum? Yeah,” he replied, smiling at her from across the room. Catching her eye, she blew a kiss over with a wide grin, crystal eyes sparkling.

“She’s Maria, right?”

Lance hummed, nodding slowly as he brought his attention back to Shay. If she was going to say anything else, she was cut off by being ushered to the center of the circle. 

Everyone finished up doing their trust fall exercises and getting to know each other so Coran called them back to the center of the stage to do a read-through the script. It just so happened that Lance ended up sitting right next to Keith, which was _great_.

Everything went rather smoothly, and as little as he wanted to admit it, it was convenient that Lance was sitting to Keith. Lotor stretched over with an evil going to his smiling eyes and jabbed Lance lightly in the side as Keith threw his arms around him. 

“Riff,” he breathed, eyes wide, slightly teary. And then he turned around and stabbed his fingers into Lotor’s side with an over dramatic shriek that Lance couldn't help but laugh at.

And he tried his best to keep those steely eyes from stirring up the memories that he worked so hard to bury. It was just _acting_.

But even after trying to dissuade those memories from his mind, he focused in on the scene, on Plaxum pressing her hand gently against Keith’s face, Lotor hugging his knees a foot away, having scooted out of the way. 

And that didn't sit well with him. He knew, he _knew_ that it was just acting and there wasn't even a hint of emotion in her gesture that was genuine, but it still made his blood boil. Even though Keith was lying on the ground with his eyes closed, pretending to be dead. He didn't like it.

Lance allowed himself to get spun up in the scene that Plaxum was creating all by herself as she waved a finger gun around and yelled, “How many bullets are in this gun, Chino?” and finishing up the read through with her beautifully written (and extraordinarily acted) last lines. “How many can I kill, Chino? How many--and still have one left for me?”

Plaxum flopped her script on the ground next to her and giggled slightly, joyful.

Coran clapped, announcing with a grin, “Welcome to West Side Story, everybody.”


	7. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith, always wanting himself and everyone else to be better, ends up getting himself (and Lance, by consequence) in trouble with Coran for a second time this season. The boys hope that they won't get pulled from the production. Coran has other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm positively s h a k i n g for season 7, my dudes, and for that reason, next week's chapter might be a day or two late!  
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter, you'll finally get some answers for that spicy past between Keith and Lance!

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Keith yelled, his jaw clenched as he twirled around to face Lance. “The line is ‘Maybe what you’re waiting for’ll be _twitching_ at the dance!’ Get it right!”

Lance visibly clenched his hands into fists, shaking slightly. “I missed _one_ word, hardass. It's seven o'clock in the morning, get off my case!”

Rolling his eyes, Keith crossed his arms and huffed, hoping Lance could feel his irritation oozing out of every pore. Their first real rehearsal started in fifteen minutes and Coran expected them to be off-book already. While, sure, it was a lot to ask, Keith already had his lines memorized and felt more than prepared to begin rehearsal.

But when he’d walked into the theater, Lance and Plaxum were perched on the edge of the stage, the boy lying down with his arms thrown over his face as he struggled to remember a line. From his awkward position, an inch of tan skin was revealed above his waistline. Not that Keith had looked.

No, instead Keith had heard a horrible inflection and stuttering. 

“You’re not off-book?” he’d growled throwing his bag down in a seat before grabbing his script and approaching the couple.

Lance had immediately groaned and pushed himself up on his elbows, rolling his eyes as he tried to come up with an excuse against the fact that he was a fucking dumbass who didn’t memorize all his lines. Without really listening to his excuse, Keith hopped onto the stage and declared that he would help Lance with his lines.

And that had gone just about as well as anyone would have expected. And now Lance was stomping across the stage, fed up with Keith’s ability to stay on task and be blunt with him, apparently.

Plaxum awkwardly twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she sat cross-legged on the side of the stage. With a huff, Lance plopped himself down next to her and took an angry sip from his water bottle. His girlfriend laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned to Keith, “It _is_ pretty early. Both in the morning and in the season. It’s harsh to expect everyone off-book a week and half after casting.”

“But _you’re_ off-book, right?” Keith asked with a raised eyebrow. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned into one hip while Plaxum stammered, looking away. It was clear the answer was yes. “So then I don't see why he's not!” Keith twirled back around and pointed a finger at Lance harshly. “You have half the lines we do!”

He saw how Lance’s eyes widened and thought he might have gone too far. But, it was a fact, even if he had been harsh in his wording. And there was no way in hell Keith was going to stand on stage next to a blubbering imbecile who didn’t know his lines.

He needed to be the best and to be the best, those around him had to actually care about what they were doing; if they were to succeed, it would have to be together. Sure, maybe it wasn't Keith's job to make sure Lance knew his lines, but it wasn't hurting anything but their already-shattered relationship.

They ran through the scene again, and Lance dramatically over-pronounced the word he'd missed last time. Keith rolled his eyes and grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip and nodding toward Lance, “You’re inflection was all off. I don’t know if you don’t understand the scene or if you don’t know your lines, but whatever it is, you need to fix it by next rehearsal. You need to be better, Lance.”

“I don't _need_ to be anything, mullet,” he snapped back. “You're an overbearing asshole who doesn’t know when to quit! I know what I need to do, and I don’t need _you_ telling me everything I’ve done wrong! It’s the first fucking rehearsal, man.”

With his eyebrows furrowed, Keith ran his tongue over his teeth, trying his hardest to contain himself. It didn't work. “When will you get it through your goddamn head that this is about more than just you? If you fail, I'll look like an idiot next to you! I can't believe you would jeopardize all of this--”

“Keith. Lance. Can I talk to you both outside?” Coran’s icy voice sliced through Keith’s rant like a knife. The red-headed man didn’t even wait for a reply or any sort of acknowledgement before he was stalking out of the theater.

Keith’s blood immediately went cold. 

This was bad. No, it was worse than bad. This could have catastrophic effects. If Lance had just fucking _learned_ his lines, then he never would have been yelling at him in the first place, and he wouldn’t have been called to the director’s office for a second time in under two weeks. 

All he’d wanted was to act with the best people possible and aid them in becoming the best they could. But his intentions didn’t really matter. He was causing a “disturbance” and being “rude.”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut for a minute before hopping off the stage and dragging his feet out of the theater, just a few steps ahead of Lance. All he could do was hope that their actions wouldn’t have lasting consequences, since this was technically their second offense.

They sunk into the chairs in front of Coran’s desk, a horrifyingly familiar experience as the director leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers in front of his face.

“We took a chance on you two boys. You know that, right? We knew the kind of animosity between you, but we also knew that both of you are exceptional actors. I really thought that you would be able to put aside your differences and work together for the sake of keeping your roles.”

_That’s_ exactly what Keith was afraid of. He started trembling even as Coran kept going.

“Now, I know that you boys have known each other for a good while, but I don’t expect stupid games and dumb quarrels to keep my two best actors from performing their best!” he stated a little too enthusiastically. “And Keith, please don’t harass Lance. I am the director for a reason and while I appreciate your concern for the quality of our performance, I am more than capable to tell him what’s wrong.”

Keith had to consciously prevent himself from rolling his eyes. He could hardly call the words he’d exchanged with Lance “harassing”.

“And Lance, you have to be willing to take constructive criticism from your fellow actors. You won’t be able to grow as an actor or as a man until you can listen to others!” Coran scolded lightly. He stood up and walked in front of the door, prompting both Lance and Keith to stand as well. “So, now that you both understand what I’m looking for, I’ll give you both some time to work out the dispute between you two!”

Keith blinked and let a tight smile curl his lips. “We don’t need to waste any of your time, Mr. Smythe. We’re more than able to talk after rehearsal and discuss our . . . differences, right Lance?”

But just as Lance was going to agree, Coran slipped out of the office and told them with a wicked smile, “I’ll come back and check on you two in thirty minutes or so! Hopefully you’ll both be much happier!”

Keith blanched, eyes going wide. “What about rehearsal?”

“Rehearsal starts in, like, now!” Lance yelled at the same time, both of them staring Coran down like madmen.

“Yep! See you boys in half an hour!” Coran sang as he slammed the door. Keith stiffened as he heard the metallic _click_ of the lock.

Nevertheless, Keith relentlessly turned the knob, his breathing starting to quicken as he realized he truly was trapped. Looking around frantically, he was glad that the office wasn’t too small to trigger feelings of claustrophobia, but it wasn’t comfortable, to say the least.

In his own panic, he didn’t notice that Lance had sunk back into his chair, quietly. “Well . . . ? Do you actually want to, uh, talk about . . . it?”

Keith snorted rudely, not understanding that Lance was proposing a serious offer as he milled about the room, still trying to convince himself that he wasn’t going to suffocate from lack of oxygen. But as he turned around to face Lance, he caught sad, blue eyes staring right back at him.

“Oh,” Keith let out, biting his lip with a sigh. “I, uh, don’t really think talking about that shit is going to help anything,” he said honestly, his voice quieter than he had expected.

“Yeah, I guess,” he responded with a sigh. “But, I just don’t know _why_.”

Keith let out a small huff of a mirthless laugh. “I could say the same to you.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and dragged his chair a little further from Lance, turning to face him instead of the desk before tucking one leg underneath him and sitting down. Honestly, he was a little surprised Lance brought up the actual topic at hand instead of yelling at him.

“I really fucking liked her,” Lance breathed, looking away as he played with the hem of his shirt.

As per usual, Keith was aggressively pressing his fingertips together, his muscles tense as memories swamped him. “Out of everything, _that’s_ what we’re going to talk about?” he asked, almost incredulous.

“It’s what started it all, right?” He shook his head as he brought his gaze back to meet Keith’s. “You broke us up! At least I feel bad about spreading those goddamn rumors about you, but I doubt you regret getting Acxa all to yourself.”

“Fuck you!” Keith yelled back, not really realizing how loud he was being. “I regret that damn decision everyday, Lance.” Running his hands through his hair angrily, he looked away as he lowered his voice and admitted. “After she found out my . . . motivation for getting you to break up, she never talked to me again. I made a fucking mistake, but I-I didn’t think I’d be paying for it for the rest of my life.”

He felt tears threatening behind his eyes so he stood up quickly and turned his back to Lance, clenching his fists and staring out the small window in the office. Even as Lance spoke, Acxa’s words still pounded within his skull:

_You really are a fucking freak_.

“And what exactly was your motivation, Keith? That’s the part I don’t exactly understand,” his voice was dark but not exactly malicious. He could hear Lance pushed himself out of his chair, tension grabbing his muscles as the boy approached him.

Keith could feel Lance, only an inch taller, standing next to him, dangerously close. His breath almost tickled Keith’s ear when he spoke next, “I just don’t _get it_. I thought you were gay. What was going on inside your fucking head to make you want to break us up?”

But there was no way Keith could tell him. It was the one detail that Keith would never, ever, tell Lance. And as much as Keith hated Lance? He hated himself more.

He had forced Acxa to break up with Lance not because Keith wanted to get with Acxa, but because Keith wanted to get with _Lance_.

Having a crush on a stupid boy destroyed his life.

He never imagined that things could have spiraled out of control as quickly and as catastrophically as they did. Going from embarrassingly crushing on someone to loathing them takes a lot of work. Luckily for him, Lance was more than willing to help with that.

“Well I have no goddamn clue what was going on in _your_ head when you spread rumors about me. That shit affected more than just me.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Okay, so you’re dodging the question.” Keith noted that as angry as he’d gotten, the other boy had hardly raised his voice. Maybe he was truly trying to work things out. Thankfully, Keith didn’t have to think of a response because Lance kept talking, “If I’m being honest? I didn’t really mean to start the rumor. But once I saw the potential power I could have? I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

He almost sounded remorseful. But after spreading a rumor to the entire school that Keith was in an incestual relationship with his adoptive brother? Keith wasn’t quite sure if he believed him.

“I probably don’t have to spell this one out for you, do I?” Keith said with a sigh, moving to the next Big Event™ in the Tragic Backstory of Keith and Lance™. “I was obviously . . . upset that people thought I was fucking my brother and when Shiro told me that maybe we shouldn’t go to the goddamn grocery store together? I snapped.”

He was more surprised than he wanted to admit when Lance leaned against the window frame and nodded. “I get it, I guess. But my car, man? Really? That was a fucking birthday present from my grandpa. My _dead_ grandpa.”

Keith bristled. “I-I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Lance replied, but it didn’t exactly sound snotty, just . . . sad. “I couldn’t pay to fix it so I guess I made you pay . . . emotionally.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna talk about that,” Keith told him coldly, walking away from the window, away from Lance, in an attempt to distance himself from the conversation. He knew if they did start talking about _that_ , he really would start crying. And he hated crying.

Lance huffed and crossed his arms. “C’mon, man. _We’re_ going to end up killing each other on stage instead of Bernardo and Chino killing us.”

Keith felt Lance’s hand on his shoulder. Immediately, he tensed, curling his fingers harshly into fists at his sides. Still not facing Lance, he couldn’t believe his audacity. He couldn’t believe that Lance was trying to work shit out between them in the name of the fucking musical and now he was attempting to, what? Comfort him?

And he kept talking, to top it all off, “Coran said we need to be able to put this all in the past--”

Violently spinning around to face Lance, Keith grabbed a fistful of Lance’s shirt and tugged him close. “Fuck whatever Coran said,” he growled, eyes burning. “You _hurt_ me, Lance. And there’s no way we’re going to put this all in the goddamn past.”

With a grimace, Keith shoved Lance away from him, releasing his shirt. Horrifyingly enough, he found tears welling in his eyes that he frantically attempted to blink away before Lance could see them.

Keith took notice of the way both of them had avoided apologizing. They were both well aware that they could apologize all they wanted but it wouldn’t do anything to clear up the situation.

“Okay then,” Lance replied stiffly. 

The silence that settled over them was humid and sticky. It was suffocating.

But Keith would run out of oxygen before attempting to break the tension. So he stood in the back of the office, analyzing the whiteness of the wall (instead of analyzing his feelings), waiting for Lance to say something.

“Well. When Coran asks, everything is perfect between us, right?”

“Absolutely,” Keith replied instantly. “All this talking really cleansed our relationship,” he deadpanned sarcastically. Although, if he really thought about it, he didn’t really feel like screaming at Lance anymore, which was good, he guessed.

Lance let out a small laugh and agreed before falling back into his chair. Slowly, Keith turned around and padded back to his own chair, trying to seem more casual than he was feeling as he sat down.

He couldn’t help but grimace as Lance pulled his script out from his back pocket. Before Keith could say anything about how wrinkled his script was, Lance was sheepishly looking over at him. “Wanna go over some lines?”

They spent the rest of the half hour practicing the scenes Lance had trouble with until Coran came to collect them. The director nodded and smiled at the boys, asking brightly, “All happy again?”

Keith forced a laugh and picked himself out of the chair, throwing his arm around Lance and leaning into his shoulder. “Yeah I think the talk really helped clear things up.”

“Definitely, thanks for, uh, motivating us to talk, Mr. Smyth,” Lance smiled, wrapping one arm around Keith while using the other the scratch the back of his head a little awkwardly. Keith had to admit his acting was pretty convincing.

“Ah, my boys! I'm so glad you've worked things out. What was the matter, anyhow? A girl? Ohoho,” Coran’s voice was full of joy and eagerness, Keith couldn't help but smile slightly.

“You could, uh, say that,” Keith slyly revealed, squeezing Lance’s side harder than anything that could be considered friendly before bouncing out of the office. Lance gave a tight smile and then followed the boy to the stage.

They walked into the theater, the cast on stage lounging in a variety of positions. He was thankful beyond belief that it didn’t seem like rehearsal had officially started yet.

Without much fanfare, Coran gathered everyone and gave them the rundown of what was going to happen at rehearsal. Just like that, Keith was swept into his role and his lines and the atmosphere of the theater--strict and structured yet bubbly and fluid. 

He was reminded of why he loved acting, and he smiled.

~ ~ ~

Flopping into the chair in Coran’s office for the second time in two weeks was horrifying to say the least. Irritation was bubbling under his skin at the fact that Keith had decided to yell at him and now he was getting in trouble for it.

Thankfully, Coran decided that drastic measures weren’t necessary yet, unless you call being trapped in an office for a half an hour with your sworn enemy drastic.

But Lance was far too tired to even attempt arguing with Keith for everything he’d done to him in the past. Too tired from staying up late to finish his history essay. Too tired from waking up early to practice his lines (which he knew he was supposed to have memorized, and he didn’t need Keith yelling in his face about it, thank you very much). Too tired from trying to bury old emotions.

He found the energy to scoff at Keith’s surprise when he offered that they actually try to work things out. But as Keith’s gunmetal grey eyes locked onto Lance’s, he saw the pyre of hatred burning there, a familiar sight. Lance was sure that fire was reflected in his own eyes.

Lance sighed, “I really fucking liked her.” 

Of course, he’d known Acxa since middle school, but it wasn’t until they were lab partners in second semester chemistry junior year that he’d ever really looked at her. And once he did, he was upset that he hadn’t done so earlier.

She was radiant. Hardly ever smiling, Lance made it his mission to see that sparkling grin as often as he possibly could. He pulled out all the stops to get her to go out with him. Lance had to ask her a total of six times. The first three she thought he was joking and then when she realized he was serious, she still laughed it off twice. It could have been out of sheer annoyance that she finally accepted to get dinner with him, but it didn’t bother him.

How could he let something as dumb as that bother him when he got to spend the evening with a beautiful girl? He definitely couldn’t have been bothered when she said yes to a second date.

The summer before senior year was a splash of color and light and Acxa’s smiles. Performing in the winter musical with her had been a dream come true, even if they only had one scene together.

They had had one month. Almost exactly. One month until their 1-year anniversary. 

Lance had been at Pidge’s house all day helping to prep the house for the New Year’s Eve party. He remembered taping up streamers with sparkly silver nail polish, wearing the watch that Acxa had bought him for Christmas. With an almost cloying desperation, he had been hoping that Acxa would wear the necklace he’d spent two month’s worth of paychecks on.

He remembered sending her a text when she was fifteen minutes late, sitting in Pidge’s basement, petting her dog Bae Bae, not very concerned at all. He had two glasses of punch and two party poppers set out on a small side table to give to Acxa when she arrived.

With some confusion, Lance noticed that his girlfriend had read his text but not replied. He thought about sending a follow-up text but ended up not needing to.

She came into the basement like a warrior goddess, anger blazing in her eyes, even as they were rimmed in red. Her neck was bare.

Lance was scared. He didn’t know what he did. He didn’t know that there was nothing he could do to make it better. With a bit of better judgement, he didn’t try to offer her the drink or the party popper as she stormed up to him, her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

“I can’t believe you. Well, actually, I can, but that’s not the point, you cheating bastard!” Very quickly she was screaming. Very quickly Lance was panicking.

Acxa didn’t listen to anything past his sputtered response, “What are you talking about?”

She just yelled, tears getting caught in her lashes. She yelled and then she left. She left even as Lance was crying after her that he didn’t cheat on her, wasn’t using her. She left even as Lance followed her up the stairs, out to her car--there was snow on the ground and he had soaked his socks through, freezing him down to the core--begging for her to listen.

In the light of the moon, he curled his hands into fists as he stood at the bottom of the driveway and allowed his shoulders to shake with sobs. When he finally turned around, he saw Pidge backlit, standing in the doorway of her house through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

After that, Lance had spent the last four days of winter break hiding away in his room. 

In retrospect, it wasn’t healthy at all to rebound into Allura a week and a half after Acxa broke up with him. But after the constant, repressive feeling of emptiness, he realized that there was a very tangible way to temporarily fill that void. He had reached out, trembling and broken, and Allura had answered.

He’d only seen her twice when he realized that no matter how many pieces Allura could help glue back into his puzzle, he still needed answers. 

Sending one measly text to Acxa was so unbelievably difficult. _Who told you that I was cheating on you? I wasn’t, Acxa. I swear._ Hunk and Pidge had to help urge him to press send, but when he did, the response he got was infuriating to no end.

Acxa told him that it had been _Keith_ to tell her everything.

In one monstrously long message, she told him--in a much calmer tone than he was expecting, although it had been a month since they broke up--that Keith had spilled all his “secrets.” Lance was only using her because she was damn near the top of the class academically. All he cared about was a pretty face and a tutor for his math homework. So, of course, when he got bored of her physically, but still wanted all the rewards, he started fucking some other girl on the side.

Acxa wouldn’t even dignify Lance’s attempts (there were multiple) to tell her that he wasn’t like that, and never, ever cheated on her. But, in a way, he knew that he wasn’t going to get her back, and he’d gotten the answer that he’d initially been looking for.

It had been Keith. Keith destroyed their relationship. And for what?

So Lance didn’t think he was asking too much to know _why_ Keith had decided break them up.

Until today, Lance had assumed that he had wanted Acxa to himself (whether that was to date her or just to be friends, since he believed Keith to be gay, was still confusing to him), but it turned out that Keith had inadvertently destroyed his own relationship with Acxa in the process. 

Lance could feel a bubble of guilt under his skin at the rush of pleasure he got when Keith revealed Acxa refused to talk to him. But, in all honesty, after successfully ruining his relationship, he couldn’t feel all that bad that it blew up in his face.

After talking with Acxa and finding out that Keith was the one who lied to her, Lance focused all his emotional displacement onto him. Hating him wasn’t hard, especially since seven years of school musicals shoved a sense of inadequacy onto him. There wasn’t a single musical where he wasn’t the second in command, the sidekick, to Keith. And it infuriated him.

And all that loathing overwhelmed him, coloring his thoughts each and every time he saw Keith. 

Waiting with Nyma--the girlfriend he had ended up with only three weeks after Acxa told him who had been the mastermind behind their breakup--after school, Lance had spotted Keith in the parking lot.

Keith had the biggest smile on his face, Lance could tell even from a good distance away. His eyes were set on a taller, rather muscular man who was hardly able to close the car door behind him before Keith was throwing his arms around his neck. They were pressed close for longer than what Lance would have considered to be Standard Hug Time™.

Pointing out the interaction to Nyma, she mentioned flippantly that she thought the older man was Keith’s brother.

It took one stupid comment for everything to spiral: “Wow, I didn’t peg Keith for the incest type. But with a brother like that, I bet it’s hard to say no, right?”

The next day, someone had come up to Lance and asked if it was true, if Keith was really in a relationship with his brother. Lance had shrugged a little and laughed it off. 

In a matter of a week, the whole school thought that Keith was fucking his brother. People left notes on his desk, taped signs to his backpack, harassed and shoved him in the halls, among other things that Lance didn’t witness himself. Surely, worse things happened. He even heard that someone got suspended (whether it was Keith himself or someone else, he didn’t know).

It made him sick to his stomach at the same time it gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction. Lance had suffered directly at the hand of Keith’s actions, so, in his mind, it was Keith’s turn to suffer. It was one lie for another.

But, he didn’t mean for it to go as far as it went. Watching him getting bullied for a lie that he started didn’t sit right with him, but it he didn’t do anything to stop it.

And then Keith had wrecked Lance’s car. Honestly, the backlash was justifiable, although it had happened more than a month after the start of the rumor, so it was definitely a surprise when Lance tried to drive home from work that day.

Three tires slashed. Headlights shattered. Windshield cracked by five or six harsh impacts. One mirror hanging like a decapitated head. “LIAR” etched into the driver’s side door.

Staring at his car, he couldn’t help but remember the color matching that of his Grandfather’s eyes. Dark blue, a hint of shimmer. 

For as long as he could remember, Grandfather had been sick. Frail and balding and stumbling along in a walker but never without a smile. Lance, being the youngest, always went crying to Grandfather about his older siblings being mean to him. He’d give him a lollipop and a funny story to make him laugh.

He had died when Lance was fifteen. Grandfather left him the car specifically. His three older siblings were already sharing a car, and he had always expected that he would just have to make due with that one. But it Grandfather had had other plans for him.

It seemed, though, that it didn’t matter anymore.

Lance had crumbled to the ground in front of his car and felt himself break. Felt himself start to disintegrate, edges begin to blow away in the wind. Aching with agony in his chest, memories of his Grandfather piercing into him, he could do nothing but let the tears stream down his face. And on top of that was his heartbreak about Acxa, how that had come crashing down.

But beneath his shattering outside, unadulterated rage was hiding in wait. Waiting for the last piece of himself to clatter to the ground.

And that’s when he decided. He decided that he was going to hurt Keith worse than the seemingly insurmountable pain radiating through him in that moment. 

The repressed emotions from years and years of always being second place. The burning pain of Acxa leaving him based on lies and venom. The raw agony of seeing his car completely destroyed, thousands of dollars and millions of memories scattered on the parking lot.

It was piling up and piling up and he knew one day, it was going to overflow.

Thinking about what had happened, what he had _done_ , made his cheeks flush hot with shame. But Keith decided he didn’t want to talk about that part of their past. So Lance wasn’t going to think about it either. 

The silence that followed after Keith’s declaration that there was no way _that_ was being brought up was suffocating, to say the least. He felt like he was drowning, his heartbeat thumping in his ears as he picked at his nails.

His weak voice penetrated the silence with a quiet proposal to go over the scenes, to retreat back into the safety of acting. Where he could treat Keith like a human being without him asking questions.

Needless to say, that was the longest half an hour of his life.


	8. Acquaintances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith doesn't understand acquaintance etiquette, but as we all know, he doesn't have any friends, so no one really expects him to. Lance is hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we talk about season 7, y'all?? I have many feelings
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the delay on this chapter!  
> I'm going to try my hardest to get out the next chapter on Saturday, but I am going to leave a note here that it could be a bit later than expected. I will try to avoid that, tho!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Despite being one of the most prestigious arts schools in the nation, it seemed that the previous musical hadn’t done very well (really, who _wouldn’t_ want to see Shrek the Musical, right?) so their budget was a little tight. When Allura had mentioned that, Keith didn’t quite imagine that it meant the poor costume crew would be making a lot of things by hand.

He also didn’t quite imagine that he would be standing in his third pair of hand-tailored pants, pins sticking up and down the sides of the legs. Hunk, a big guy with dark, smooth skin and a bright, warm smile, had taken his measurements during the second rehearsal. Keith had tried his hardest not to blush awkwardly.

But there was no room to be uncomfortable in the costume room. After having been made to visit for a variety of costumes, he’d gotten over the initial shock of them wanting him to strip down right then and there. Besides, he was standing in front of his own rack--three full sets of costumes hanging there, the majority already stuck with pins--so it wasn’t like many people could see him anyway.

As soon as Keith had put on the pair of pants to be judged for today, Hunk had gasped at the bagginess of them. Immediately, he’d grabbed his pins and went to work, muttering to himself, “I don’t know what happened, I thought I only increased the seam allowance by an inch because of the type of fabric, but I must have messed up my measurements somewhere along the way.”

Halfway through pinning, Hunk turned his smiling eyes up to Keith and asked if he had family in the area. Keith was a little taken aback, but answered anyway, “Yeah, actually, my older brother and his, uh, maybe-boyfriend roommate have an apartment downtown, just a twenty minute walk away. Our parents are about a five hour drive south though.”

Hunk was nodding; it took him a moment to respond because he had placed a pin between his lips to hold while he adjusted something else. “Yeah, Shiro, right?”

Keith bristled. He’d forgotten that Hunk had gone to his high school. Of course he would know the rumors, know the sort of things that people believed about him in senior year. 

Hunk must have felt the tension in his muscles, heard his breath catch. “My moms live in the suburbs of the city, like a forty-five minute drive out. It’s nice that they’re so close; I can go home for weekends if I want real food or free laundry,” he continued on, distracting Keith’s intrusive thoughts.

“That’s really nice that they’re so close. Easy for holidays and stuff too,” Keith commented, trying his best to keep the conversation going, push it to a slightly different topic.

Thankfully, Hunk latched on and began speaking passionately about the state of his house when Christmas comes around. Keith had to laugh at the way the tailor rolled his eyes when he mentioned the fact that they’re definitely the first ones at the tree farm, the day after Thanksgiving.

Their conversation wasn’t overly long, because, before he knew it, Keith was looking down at Hunk, admiring his work before telling him, “Okay! I think that’s it for you right now. Thanks for being so patient, Keith.” His smile was warm.

“It’s not a problem,” he replied, starting to slip out of his pants extremely carefully, pulling one leg out at a time, trying not to mess up the pinning or stick himself. Handing his costume pants back to Hunk with a tight smile, he slipped back into his regular clothes with a gentle sigh of comfort.

“Oh, Keith! Before you go, I was wondering if you would want to come to a small party on friday? We would just be watching West Side and have some snacks, nothing too intense,” Hunk offered with another grin and a light laugh.

Keith was beyond shocked. Sure, he’d been in the costume room more than a couple times and had held decent conversations with the guy, but he wouldn’t classify them as anything more than acquaintances. Not that he was well-versed with the social actions of friends vs. acquaintances, but being _invited_ to a party? He didn’t really think people did that. But then again, when was the last time he’d been invited to a party?

So, he was more than willing to take up Hunk’s offer, despite the nagging feeling of anxiety clawing up his throat.

~ ~ ~

“Why in the name of the lord would you invite him?” Lance asked, his voice loud and laced with disbelief. 

Hunk let out an exasperated sigh. “Hey, he’s really nice, Lance! And, you should know better than anyone that he doesn't have many friends, if any at all.”

Eyes wide, Lance shoved a finger in Hunk’s face, his tone abrasive, “Just because he doesn’t have any friends doesn’t mean _we_ have to be his friends!”

Hunk grabbed Lance's hand, lowering it slowly, his voice quiet and almost deadly serious, “I thought better of you, Lance. I know what happened between you guys was pretty damn awful, but I really thought you’d gotten over it by now. Stop being such a child.”

Dumbfounded at Hunk's harsh words, Lance dropped his hand back to his side, the fight leaking out of his slowly as his best friend’s words of judgement sunk into him. He swallowed and looked away, ashamed at being called out for his behavior. 

And he knew everything Hunk said was true. Hunk was a loving, kind person by nature and didn’t hold grudges in the slightest. It was actually one of his qualities that Lance admired the most about him.

“I-I guess you’re right,” Lance groaned, scratching the back of his neck.

So he would suck it up (just like every rehearsal) and deal with it. Keith really wasn’t that annoying, especially if he didn’t talk. And since they were watching a movie, he supposed that having Keith there wouldn’t be all that bad. Especially because Pidge was coming and if there was one thing she hated more than a slow wifi connection, it was people talking during movies. He'd been on the receiving end of her anger too many times, and Lance secretly hoped that maybe Keith _would_ start talking, just to see what would happen.

They still had almost a half an hour until people were supposed to start arriving, and Lance would have to go to the lobby and sign Plaxum, Pidge, and Shay in before they could come up to the room. So, Lance spent his time trying to figure out the best way to set up their cramped dorm room to fit six people comfortably to see Hunk’s excruciatingly small laptop screen.

Hunk was trying to find his extra blanket when he stumbled upon the bag of tortilla chips Lance had shoved underneath his bed with a grand total of three chips and a handful of crumbs left at the bottom. “Lance! I was looking for these! Who’s going to enjoy my guacamole without chips?” Hunk questioned, annoyed.

Lance’s eyes got wide as he turned away from where he was fiddling with the computer to look Hunk sheepishly in the eye. “I didn’t know they were for today! I just got really hungry after rehearsal yesterday!”

“So you ate an _entire_ bag of tortilla chips?!”

“Obviously! What else would I eat? _Real_ food?” Lance countered with a light laugh that quickly turned into a battle yell as Hunk grabbed a pillow off his bed and threw it towards Lance. “Oh, you’re so on!”

The two boys soon found themselves at an impasse, Lance with a pillow in each hand, standing in the corner of his bed with a devilish smirk on his face as Hunk was standing in front of his dresser, a larger pillow clutched in both his hands. “You know what this means, right, Lance?”

Lance cocked an eyebrow but said nothing else, expecting Hunk to continue without much prompting.

“Since you ate all the chips, you don’t get any of the guacamole.”

Immediately, Lance had his arms at his sides and a pitiful look on his face as he whined, “No! Hunk, you’re guac is literally _legendary_. I’ll just go out and grab some more tortilla chips!” He tried his best to negotiate with him, but Hunk just shook his head.

“Now, I guess, the handmade guacamole that I slaved over for hours, making it exactly like my grandma did, will just have to go in the trash, a real testament to my cooking ability,” Hunk continued, really laying it on thick. It definitely didn’t take him over an hour, but damn he made some spectacular guac, whether it was grandma’s recipe or not.

Lance dropped the pillows and slid off the bed, trying to give Hunk his best puppy-dog eyes. “Anything but the trash! Just save it for tomorrow if we don’t have time to get chips. C’mon, Hunk, be reasonable.”

“I’d say it’s pretty _unreasonable_ to eat an entire bag of tortilla chips in one sitting, so you’re really one to talk,” Hunk shot back. Lance tried his utmost to strengthen his puppy-dog eyes, attempting to get back into Hunk’s good graces. It seemingly worked, because his best friend rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “At least I really am reasonable,” he muttered as he threw his pillow back onto his bed and grabbed an unopened bag of tortilla chips from his dresser.

Lance gaped. “If you had more chips I don’t understand what the issue was!”

“It’s on the principle that I don’t know what we would have done if I wasn’t smart enough to hide the chips from you, you heathen.”

Lance pouted and kept his eyes locked on Hunk’s as he gently placed his hands on the bag of chips. “I really am sorry I ate the first bag without sharing.” Right as he finished speaking, he attempted to rip the bag away from Hunk quickly, but unfortunately his best friend knew him way too well.

“Nope! With your track record, you need to stay away from the food until the company comes,” he responded seriously, plucking the bag of chips out of his grasp as Lance dropped his shoulder and crossed his arms, obviously put-off. He opened his mouth to complain about how hungry he was, but it was Hunk’s turn to wave a warning finger in his face. “I don’t wanna hear it, Lance. Besides, the girls should be texting you any second now and who knows when Keith is going to show up.”

“Fashionably late, probably,” Lance sighed as he turned away from Hunk, his mind moving away from the food (but he was really craving some of Hunk’s guacamole at the moment). His roommate made a noise of dissent at Lance’s tone, but he shrugged him off, busying himself with moving the small bedside table. Next, he winced at the noise as he shoved Hunk’s bed against the opposite wall, creating an “L” shape with his and Hunk’s beds. With three to a bed and the laptop balanced on a desk in between them, everything should work out.

Hunk was busy setting out his guac and chips in the most fashionable manner (he was extremely particular about his food, especially what he’d made) when Lance got the text that Plaxum was waiting in the dorm lobby.

With a smile, he bounced out of the room, excited to see his girlfriend. He quickly texted Pidge and Shay to see if they were close, because then they could just wait in the lobby for them instead of Lance having to come back down once they got there. The elevator light was flickering slightly and the the whole thing creaked when he stepped in, but he just rolled his eyes, used to the annoyances of the old machinery already.

Plaxum was as bright as the sun, her aquamarine hair a splash of color in the dull lobby. “Hey, Plax,” he greeted with a grin, wrapping her up in his arms and pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“Hi, Lance! I haven’t watched West Side all the way through in years, so I’m super excited!” she revealed, squeezing his hand and diving into meaningless chatter about the yoga class she took at the school gym.

Pidge had responded almost immediately that she was only a block away, so she should be showing up any minute now. Lance intertwined their fingers as he asked about the girl with the obnoxiously loud breathing in Plax’s yoga class with a smile. The couple worked so well together, everything falling into place seamlessly when they talked, it almost seemed like fate.

But, of course, it wasn’t. There was a thinly-lined feather marking the inside of her right wrist that told his scorpio constellation otherwise. Plus, she was a pisces anyway.

Lance didn’t dwell on that, and didn’t have time to anyway, since Pidge strolled through the doors just a few minutes after Lance had come down to the lobby.

“Pidgeon! How are you?” Lance asked, kickstarting the story of how she had seen the most fucking adorable dog on her walk here and she honestly thought about stealing it. They hadn’t heard back from Shay yet, so Lance decided to take the girls up to the room and let Hunk go down and get her, since they had already been on a few unofficial dates.

They came back to the room and Hunk had put out a bag of potato chips and somehow found a bag of skittles (probably from under Lance’s bed, but he wasn’t about to call Hunk out on that now, since that would also mean owning up to the fact that he had snacks under his bed).

“Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love! How are you?” Plaxum greeted brightly, disentangling herself from Lance and sending a warm smile to Hunk.

He blushed slightly, a little awkward with the nickname, even though it was one he’d heard before. “I’m glad you could make it Plaxum. I finished up the alterations to your skirt for the dance this morning, so I’m in a pretty good mood.”

She clapped and said she was excited to see it as she climbed on top of Lance’s bed and leaned against the wall.

Pidge threw her entire body onto Hunk’s bed and mumbled into the sheet, “Guys, I really wanna dog. Like really bad.” Hunk replied to her, asking about Matt maybe getting a dog that she could go visit, since he had an apartment not too far from them.

Meanwhile, Lance pursed his lips and grabbed his girlfriend’s hand, admiring her nails. “Did you really do these yourself, babe?”

She laughed and nodded. “I can do yours sometime if you want. But these look so nice!” she complimented, looking at Lance’s teal nails with some really shaky, pink diagonal lines painted on the ring finger of each hand.

“I need to practice more,” he huffed, curling his fingers into fists. But then a look of consideration passed his features and he hummed, “Hm, I have to ask if I need to have clean nails for the show . . . probably, but those behind the scenes wouldn’t have to worry about that.” He smiled a little devilishly, passing a look from Plaxum (as she laughed lightly, chiming like an angel) to his best friend.

“Hunk,” Lance called, a note of complaint in his voice. “Why won’t you ever let me paint your nails?” He honestly sounded like a whiney pre-teen girl at a sleepover.

He let out a bark of a laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, sorry buddy. Nails aren’t really my thing.”

Before Lance could even open his mouth to reply, Pidge was tacking on her own opinion, “Don’t even ask, Lance! It’s a no from me.”

Lance huffed as the three others laughed in the face of his pain. Pidge explained the one time that she had painted her nails purple for her school’s spring fling freshman year but she was so awful at it that one of her “friends” had offered her a pair of winter gloves to wear to cover them. It was mortifying and she vowed never to paint her nails again.

Lance had plenty of stories to share of people giving their opinion about him, a boy, painting his nails, but he tried not to think about them much, especially since their opinions didn’t matter nor did they affect him, obviously. 

They had moved past the conversation of nails instead to senior prom, where Plaxum was telling a story about how, at her high school, the DJ had unexpectedly quit or got sick or something, so their vice principal was trying his best. In the end, so many people were giving him bullshit requests that they ended up turning on a local radio station instead.

At the tailend of the story, Hunk got the text that Shay was waiting in the lobby, and he tried to fight his happiness as he waltzed out of the room.

It was, of course, in the five minutes that Hunk was gone, that Keith decided it was high time he showed up. “Oh, uh, hi,” Lance awkwardly said as he opened the door, expecting it to be Hunk.

“Hi. Thanks, uh, for having me,” Keith told him with a tight grin, shoving his hands in his pockets and standing stiffly.

Plaxum, always the lifesaver, immediately brought up the most neutral topic, West Side, of course. “I’m excited for your death scene, Keith! I finally get to yell at more than just Luxia,” she said with a laugh.

Shyly, Keith let his smile grow a little bit. “Yeah, me too. I wanna see how they block it. I’m sure it’ll be really dramatic.” His voice was sterile and his nervousness was obvious, but at least he was trying to be open.

Pidge let out a groan as she flipped herself over, letting her head hang off the bed, upside down. “Just make sure you’re careful. If you fall on your mic pack, a battery can fall out or something can break.”

Both Lance and Keith nodded, knowing that Coran would be the type of person who would remember a detail like that five minutes before the show started and try to make them die differently than they had in every rehearsal.

The conversation continued slowly as Lance watched Keith awkwardly take his red jacket off and grab a few potato chips. Plaxum shifted slightly next to Lance, tilting her head to one side. “Uh, Keith? Don’t you live in this building?” she asked lightly.

Keith nodded around his chips; Lance could tell the boy tensed a bit at the exacting question.

“Well, I don’t mean to be rude . . . but why’d you bring your jacket?”

Pidge snorted as Lance cracked a smile, looking away. Keith turned bright red and dug his hands into his jeans (black skinny jeans, to be exact--how emo), digging his toe into the ground and trying to shake his unkempt bangs in front of his burning cheeks.

Lance would be lying if he said watching Keith blush wasn’t a little bit of an experience. Throughout the years of knowing him, Lance had hardly ever seen him truly _embarrassed_. He’d seen his cheeks flushed with unadulterated anger and pure sorrow (even though it was a bit painful to think about), but never with embarrassment. It certainly wasn’t a good look for Keith, that was for sure.

Thankfully enough for Keith, Lance assumed, Hunk and Shay came back right on time, although the two were already deep in conversation when they came in. “His aura was totally off? Like nothing I’d seen before! I swear it was closer to--” Shay cut herself off as she looked at the scene in the room: Pidge, dangling upside down on Hunk’s bed, Plaxum sitting crossed-legged next to Lance on his bed, trying not to laugh as Keith stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Hey, Shay,” Pidge greeted with a smile that she then twisted into a frown before bursting into raucous laughter that was definitely aided by the blood rushing to her head. The rest of the room couldn’t help but laugh alongside her as she struggled to sit up, grasping futily at the bedsheets.

Hunk invited everyone to try some of the guac and feel free to munch on the snacks during the movie while he turned on his clunky laptop and put the DVD in. With a snort, Pidge commented, “I haven’t had a laptop with a DVD drive in _years_ , Hunk. How do you survive with something like that?”

“Well, unlike you, I don’t use my laptop to hack the Pentagon,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Plus the hard drive--”

“Wait, hold up,” Plaxum interrupted, raising her eyebrows and leaning forward on the bed. “You hacked the _Pentagon_?”

It was Pidge’s turn to roll her eyes. “No, of course not,” she assured. “Just the White House.” 

Hunk shook his head with a lopsided smile while Lance just laughed, watching the way Plaxum, Shay, and Keith dealt with their surprise. Plaxum was trying to ask Pidge if it was true before beginning to bother Lance about it, hitting him lightly on the arm a few times. On the other hand, Shay had taken a bite of Hunk’s guac and immediately charged into a round of compliments and questions about the recipe and probably some astrology bullshit (Lance was really one to talk) and moon tides or whatever.

And Keith . . . was laughing. The day was seemingly littered in “firsts” for Lance. First time having Keith over to his dorm, seeing him embarrassed, seeing him laugh. It was interesting watching the way Keith’s eyes sparkled as he squeezed them closed, his lips turned upward in a sort of delight he’d never seen. He’d never been on the receiving end of a look like that, except when he was “bleeding out” on the stage, and even that only lasted for half a second. Nevertheless, the look of joy on his face was simple and breathtaking.

Lance’s eyes went wide for a slight second before he turned his full attention to Plaxum, his _girlfriend_. A bit more stiff than he would have liked, he forced a laugh and replied to her persistent prodding, “You know as well as me that if she really had hacked into the White House, I, king of secret-keeping, would be the last person she would ever tell.”

As the conversations died down and Hunk was finally able to get the movie going, he turned off the light and hopped onto his bed, next to Shay and Pidge. The next moment could go down in history as the most awkward thirty seconds of his life.

Keith, fist deep into the potato chip bag, looks between the two beds and realized that the only open space was next to Lance. That was also the moment that Lance realized that small fact. It seemed that after that, everyone else was clued in.

But no one did anything. It obviously didn’t help that right then his foot started to sting, excess anxiety rolling into his stomach, accompanying his own. But he shook off the feeling, trying not to get caught up in the tense atmosphere that he was probably making up in his head.

Keith looked like a deer in headlights and the opening credits were starting to roll. Grabbing a handful of chips and swallowing awkwardly, Keith padded across the room and pushed himself onto Lance’s bed, kicking off his shoes before sitting cross-legged next to him.

Lance let out a shaky breath and kept his eyes trained on the tiny laptop screen, thankful that Keith didn’t try and sit on his desk or the floor or something like that. Not that he was glad that he was sitting next to him, obviously, but that he didn’t make a scene. He squeezed Plaxum’s hand as she smiled at the introduction of Riff.

Thankfully, he quickly got caught up in the musical, the thoughts of real-world issues and interpersonal relationships fell away.

~ ~ ~

Saying Keith was nervous would be a gross understatement. Standing there, realizing that there was no other option than to climb onto Lance’s bed and sit next to Lance himself, he could feel each and every muscle fiber tense up. How exciting. He thought that maybe once he got to the room, he would unwind a bit (he took five minutes in the stairwell to collect himself, especially after walking up ten flights, but that only helped to increase his anxiety).

And he was finally beginning to settle into a slightly awkward level of existence along with the others in the room, but now his heart was racing and he was crushing chips in his hand. Taking a deep breath and attempting to keep an air of nonchalance about him, he clamored onto the bed, hearing his boots slap against the grimey tile of the dorm floor.

But the movie was starting and he could hardly hear it over his heartbeat in his ears. It was aggravating, the sort of anxiety that latched onto him when the stupidest of people were around. It was a big part of the reason he tended to stay secluded and aloof, if lonesome at times.

If he was being honest, it was strange that he’d been able to stand being in Lance’s presence for this long without some sort of fight breaking out. But as “The Jet Song” broke out, Keith remembered why he loved this movie, and was soon enough invested in the musical whole-heartedly.

The sun set while they were watching the movie. Keith probably looked through the window too many times (because he was overly calculating of everything he did, not wanting to seem weird in front of people he barely knew), but the colors were awash between the metallic skyscrapers. Bouncing from window to window, the setting sun painted itself across the city.

And then it was dark, well, as dark as a city can get, he assumed. The light of the small laptop seemed almost glaring without the sun in the background, but it was coming up to the rumble, so Keith let the thoughts of real world shit fall away.

When Riff fell to the ground at Bernardo’s blade, Plaxum slapped Lance on the shoulder loudly a few times. “You die just like that!” she complimented before muttering to herself, “God, I haven’t seen this movie in ages.”

“I watched it again the night the show was announced,” Keith said with a chuckle, conscious to not be too loud. Lance threw a smile Keith’s way and nodded in agreement, saying he listened to the soundtrack on repeat.

It was a little weird, he had to admit. That small interaction was probably the first genuine, non-hostile exchange he’d had with the boy in a year. He tried his best to squash down the feeling of novelty and the sense of marvel at the two-sentence conversation. But maybe, just maybe, this could be an indication of Lance wanting to move forward in their relationship.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I'm planning on posting a chapter a week or maybe even twice a week if I can get my shit together haha, even though I've been working on this for a year, I'm still a mess so almost nothing is ready to post~  
> Huge shoutout to my amazing beta, @communikate ! Go check out her own story for the Supernova Bang :)  
> But anyway, I hope you all enjoyed reading and stick with it!  
> Please feel free to leave a kudos if you feel so compelled and drop a comment if you want to make my day! <3  
> Thanks :)


End file.
